


The elephant in the room

by simonsaysyes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crush, Developing Relationship, Experiments, Frustration, Humour, Inexperienced, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Murder, Romance, Slow Build, Texting, Vibrator, Virgin Sherlock, body parts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsaysyes/pseuds/simonsaysyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock plots to have sex with John.</p><p>This becomes something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Milk

_Bored_.

 

John's  incessant wish to continue working at the clinic caused Sherlock to find himself bored and alone at Baker street. He had, of course, deduced why John wanted to keep working even though Sherlock would happily pay the full rent. Something about wanting to be his own man or some other tedious reason of the sort. Boring. Sherlock had deleted it.

 

 So. Here he was alone at the flat with nothing to do. He had set up his next experiment but was still waiting on the thumbs to arrive. He had even answered all the dull cases hoping that it would pass the time until John got home. None of them were more than a 3 and he was able to solve them all through email. Honestly, people could be so stupid! Society's ability to function with such unintelligent creatures ruling the earth was the real mystery!

 

Sherlock was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with his legs up on the couch. His camel dressing gown had become a mess of fabric clumped around him. He could feel something wet starting to seep through it. Tea. John had spilled it this morning when he was making his way to his chair. He tripped over one of Sherlock's bee-keeping books and proceeded to spill the tea on the floor and his jumper. This started a lovely row. John insisted that Sherlock learn to pick after himself lest occurrences of the sort continue to be the norm and ordered him to clean up the spilled tea while he went to change. Sherlock, on his side, insisted that it was outstanding how John managed to survive their cases when he couldn't even handle the simple act of holding a cup of tea and avoiding obstacles while he walked. He also noted that it was a blessing really; the soiled jumper was hideous. John had not taken the jumper insult well and ended up leaving the flat for work right after he had changed.

 

That's what Sherlock needed! A good row with his John would entertain him.

 

Sherlocks’ thoughts had started to refer to him as 'his John' for quite some time now. The first time it happened had come as a surprise but Sherlock made no attempt to rectify it. They were his own private thoughts after all. No harm could come of it. Sure, the more his infatuation grew, the more the doctor became a distraction but it wasn't an annoying distraction. Sherlock welcomed the moments his thoughts got lost cataloguing everything he could about John.

 

And then the _incident_ happened last week.

John had kissed him.

I caused Sherlock to feel the most amazing high. It was short lived.

John had pulled out of the kiss as quickly as he had initiated it. He had looked shocked and fumbled with his coat while quickly apologizing and saying it was the adrenaline before retreating to his room. This left a very confused and bewildered Sherlock standing alone in the entranceway. They had just wrapped up a particularly nasty case and had both almost been shot. Adrenaline was definitely a factor however, it had never resulted in John kissing Sherlock before. They hadn't spoken of it since.

It still confused Sherlock.

 

He needed to repeat the experiment. He needed more data but for this he needed John pumped with adrenaline.

 

He needed a case.   

 

 Why was the general populace being so dull. Someone murder someone already!

 

Sherlock freed his mobile from his dressing gown. A good row would cure his boredom.

  

Sherlock [12:27pm]

\- We're out of milk. SH

 

John [12:29pm]

\- How is that possible! There was a ton left this morning.

 

Sherlock [12:30pm]

\- I assure you, we did not have a ton of milk. Half a gallon, perhaps. Most certainly not a ton. SH

 

John [12:31pm]

\- It's a figure of speech!

 

John [12:31pm]

\- What have you done with the milk?

 

Sherlock [12:32pm]

\- You are responding rather quickly. You either have no patients or you are on your lunch break. SH

 

John [12:33pm]

\- I'm having a sandwich. You should eat too.

 

Sherlock [12:33pm]

\- I ate. SH

 

John [12:34pm]

\- I don't believe you. What did you eat?

 

John [12:34pm]

\- And what happened to the milk?

 

Sherlock [12:35pm]

\- The answers to those questions are directly correlated. SH

 

John [12:35pm]

\- You drank half a gallon of milk for lunch???

 

Sherlock [12:36pm]

\- The extra question marks are highly unnecessary. SH

 

John [12:36pm]

\- You're taking the piss aren't you! You did not drink half a gallon of milk.

 

Sherlock got up from what was becoming an uncomfortable position and walked over to the fridge. He opened it and grabbed the milk from its confine. He gave it a distasteful grin and proceeded to chug its’ entirety.

 

Sherlock [12:37pm]

\- I assure you, I have. SH

 

John [12:38pm]

\- Well then you can go out and get some more.

 

Sherlock [12:38pm]

\- Unnecessary. You can easily pick some up on your way home from work. SH

 

John [12:39pm]

\- No. You finished it, you go get more.

 

Sherlock [12:39pm]

\- Illogical. SH

 

John [12:39pm]

\- That is a perfectly sound reasoning! Get off your lazy arse and get more milk.

 

Sherlock [12:40pm]

\- Can't! My thumbs have just arrived. SH

 

John [12:40pm]

\- THUMBS?

 

John [12:40pm]

\- Why did you get thumbs?

 

John [12:41pm]

\- Sherlock, answer me!

 

John [12:42pm]

\- There better not be any thumbs in any food related item when I get back!

 

John [12:42pm]

\- Sherlock! Respond and promise me you will not be putting any thumbs in my jam?

 

John [12:44pm]

-Sherlock????

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose. This was futile. The mad bastard was probably already lost in his experiment.

 

John sat back in his chair and took a bite of his sandwich. He was thankful Sherlock had not asked him about the kiss. He had probably taken the adrenaline excuse and deleted the kiss from his brain. Clearly he hadn't been thinking when he kissed Sherlock. The adrenaline and the fact that they had almost been shot had stripped him of his common sense. It didn't help that Sherlock was standing there with his hair all ruffled, a dash of colour on his cheeks from the cold and panting a bit from having run up the stairs. John wondered if that's how Sherlock would look after an orgasm, sprawled out on the bed and trying to catch his breath. His curls would be all over the place. Sherlock kept such a neat appearance there was no way he wasn't a fan of manscaping. John chuckled. There was no way Sherlock knew what manscaping meant but he probably still kept his groin clean shaven.

 

John adjusted himself and sat up straight. He had a patient to see in 10 minutes, he could not be having these thoughts now. He would need to have a nice long wank tonight. Not in the shower though. He did not want Sherlock deducing why he was in there for so long. He would do it in bed, after saying good night.     


	2. Thumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experiment time!

John [3:34pm]

\- I'm heading home. There better be milk when I get there.

 

John [3:34pm]

\- And no thumbs in my jam!

 

It was a nice day so John chose to walk home instead of taking the tube. He reasoned that this would give Sherlock more time to get the milk and hide any thumbs he didn't want John finding.

 

When John got to Baker street he found their living room empty.

 

"Sherlock?" he called out to the empty room. He heard the sound of water and determined Sherlock was in the shower.

 

He then turned and noticed the kitchen. A variety of instruments and containers were laid out on the table. There was a red cooler on the floor, it most likely contained the thumbs. This, however, was not the perplexing part. What made it odd was the white sheet pinned up on the ceiling in order to divide the room in two.

 

"Sherlock!" he called, this time with more urgency.

 

He heard the water stop and sound of movement. Sherlock then came down the stairs with a rather small towel wrapped around his waist.

 

John quickly looked away. The last thing he needed was the genius noticing how his pupils dilated at the sight of water droplets rolling down his smooth marble body. Dammit. John closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his index fingers.

 

"What is so urgent that you could not wait for me to finish my shower?" Sherlock asked "Even Anderson would have deduced by the sound of the water that that's what I was doing."

 

John opened his eyes and pointed towards the kitchen. "The hell?"

 

"Hell is described in multiple ways by a variety of different religions. I assure you, none of them describe it as being our kitchen."

 

"Sherlock!" Sherlock could hear the exasperation in John's voice but he couldn't help it. He enjoyed irritating his John, only because it constantly amazed him that John would always forgive him.

 

"I thought you could partake in my experiment with the thumbs."

 

John blinked.

 

"I wish to expand my knowledge on finger prints and their destruction. You can set up on one side of the sheet and try multiple ways to destroy the finger prints. When you're pleased with a result, you pass the thumb to me. I will then deduce how you removed or destroyed the print and attempt to repair the damage." While Sherlock explained his plan in a 'matter of fact' way, a smile crept up on his mouth. John loved seeing Sherlock smile.

If John had to play with thumbs to get Sherlock to smile, he would happily accept the task. It might even be fun. "Ok, fine" John accepted. This caused Sherlock's smile to grow which caused a matching smile to appear on John's face.

 

John walked into the kitchen. "This will be your side", Sherlock announced  while pointing to the side with a variety of solvents.

 

"If this is going to work," John thought out loud, "you can't be in the room or else you'll use the sound and smell to figure out what I'm doing before I hand over of the thumbs."

 

Sherlock smiled again. His John was so clever.

 

"How bout you go and fetch some milk, don't give me that look we both know you didn't get any." John said, "While you're gone, I'll start on some thumbs so you have something to keep you occupied until we can really start this experiment." Sherlock look quizzical but allowed John to continue, "You've obviously chosen all the products and solvents on my side. I'll pick more up when I'm at work tomorrow. That way you'll have to work harder to figure out what I've done to the thumbs."

 

"Brilliant John!" Sherlock exclaimed while heading to grab his coat.

 

"Where are you going?" John asked.

 

"To get milk of course!"

 

"Sherlock."

 

"John, for someone who came up with the plan, you are pretty perplexed as to how it will proceed."

 

"For a genius, you are pretty oblivious." John said, crossing his arms and looking Sherlock from head to toe.

 

Oh. Right. Clothes.

 

Sherlock ran to his room not wanting to waste any more time.

 

John rolled his eyes and entered the kitchen. He put on a pair of gloves and grabbed a pair of tongs. He opened the cooler to extract one of the thumbs. John closed the cooler and set the thumb down. He did not want to know where Molly had procured such a large amount of thumbs. He noticed a pad of ink and a small pad of paper. He took the finger print and wiped the remaining ink off the thumb. He turned on the Bunsen burner on "his side" of the kitchen. He poured some bleach into a beaker and set it up over the flame.

 

Sherlock ran passed the kitchen and grabbed his coat, "Bleach, John! Too easy! Come on, be creative!" he shouted as he ran out.

 

John chuckled to himself. When had this become his life? The bleach started to boil. John turned the flame off and looked around the table. He grabbed a needle and syringe and sucked up the hot bleach. In order to minimize  any signs of a puncture wound, he entered the needle through the cut off section of the thumb. He hoped that injecting the liquid between the dermis and epidermis would cause enough damage to warp the print.

 

~~~~

 

Sherlock rushed to the nearest Tesco's. On his way back he paused in front of a Chinese restaurant and looked at his watch. It was only 5pm but John would eventually want food and since his experiment had taken over the kitchen he would need take away. He might as well get it for him now.  If it was too cold by the time John was hungry, he could easily warm it up in the microwave.

 

After entering Baker street, Sherlock distinctively heard John giggling. Mrs Hudson came out of 221 B as Sherlock was entering. She gave him a stern looked, "You're a bad influence on him!", she said, clearly unimpressed by something. "It's coming out of your rent", she announced while heading down the stairs.

 

"John?" Sherlock asked while entering the kitchen. John looked at him and started giggling again.

 

There were charred marks on the microwave and smoke residue and the wall behind it. Sherlock moved to open its door and look at the inside in order to collect more data as to how this happened but John jumped in front of it. "Get to your side of sheet!" John smiled wide, trying not to go back into a fit of giggles, "You can deduce what happened once I hand the thumb over to you."

 

Sherlock handed the bags over to John and moved to his side of the kitchen. He found two thumbs already waiting for him.

 

"You got take away?"

 

"My thoughts were that you could warm it up in the microwave when you got hungry."

 

This time John burst out laughing. "I'll eat it now,” he said while heading to the living room, "Come on, your having some too. Half a gallon of milk does not a lunch make."

 

"But the thumbs!"

 

"The thumbs can wait."

 

~~~~~

 

John was surprised at how much he had enjoyed working on the experiment. He already had ideas of what to get at work tomorrow to continue destroying the finger prints. John stretched and stood.

 

"Alright, bed time for me" he announced.

 

Sherlock looked at him. "John, if you are going to go indulge in self-gratification you might as well go do it in the shower instead of your room." 

 

John instantly went a lovely shade of red. He stood there, frozen in place with his mouth open.

 

"It would be far more practical since you wouldn't have to worry about cleaning up afterwards."

 

"Sherlock...", John started then closed his mouth because he wasn't sure what to say.

 

"You started yawning an hour ago and every time you think of going to bed you adjust your trousers. Easy deduction."

 

John still didn't know what to reply.

 

"No need to be embarrassed John. As a doctor you must know that it's a perfectly natural thing to do and it is actually conducive to sleep."

 

"Yeah, ok, thanks. It's just that people don't normally point it out when their flatmate is about to go..."

 

"Masturbate." Sherlock provided since John didn't seem to be able to say it. This caused the red tone to come back to John's face.

 

"It's a perfectly natural thing to do," Sherlock repeated.

 

"Yeah I know it is!", John said, avoiding to look at Sherlock, "I just always thought masturbating was beneath you or something. It's strange to hear you talk about it."

 

"I have a regular masturbation routine just like anyone else."

 

"Routine?"

 

Sherlock was about to speak again but John cut him off, "Nope! I don't want to know what it is! I'm going to bed now. Good night!"

 

John marched away leaving Sherlock alone in the kitchen staring at thumbs.

 

Of course, John had his own preferred technique when indulging in self-gratification, but he had never coined it as a routine. By cutting off Sherlock, John knew he had effectively managed to avoid finding out Sherlocks’ methodical ways...the alternative methods of discovering it all were much more appealing...even though it would never happen.

 

Sherlock had noticed John's arousal signs when he had mentioned that he had a routine. He was going to describe his routine to John in order to see if the signs would heightened but John had cut him off. Perhaps if he could push John to full arousal, John would kiss him again. That's what people did when they were sexually aroused by their partner...they kissed, right? Would John accept Sherlock as a sexual partner?

 

Sherlock was too deep in thought to notice the sound of the shower turning on.


	3. Moaning

John paused between his bedroom and the bathroom. Sod it! Sherlock was going to think he was wanking off anyways so he might as well. He turned and went into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and undressed.

 

When he deemed the water temperature acceptable he stepped in. His thoughts went to Sherlock wet, his skin glistening beneath only a towel. Sherlock who was currently downstairs and aware of what John was about to do. Or maybe Sherlock was trying to listen to him and deduce how he was stroking himself by the sound of the water falling. John let out a quiet groan. The thought of Sherlock eavesdropping should not be turning him on like this.

 

He took himself in hand and started with long lazy strokes.

 

Maybe Sherlock would burst into the room. John added more pressure to his grip but kept his strokes slow.

 

Sherlock could stand there and watch him. He would no doubt want to catalogue John's scar but he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of John's movements. John added a little twist when he got to his tip before sliding his hand back down.

 

Sherlock would get hard at the sight of him. John would be able to notice the outline of his cock growing in those damn tight trousers. John bit his lip to stop himself from moaning out loud.

 

Sherlock would start palming at his erection through his trousers. John shifted his position in order to use his other hand to reach his hole and tease his own entrance.

 

John would instruct Sherlock to remove his palm. He wouldn't allow Sherlock to touch himself, he wanted him to watch and nothing else. Hm, apparently he was a bit of a sadist. He increased the speed of his strokes and a moan escaped his mouth.

 

Sherlock would ask him not to insert his finger into his own hole. He would tell John that if anyone was going to go in, it would be him. John removed his finger from his entrance. Hm, apparently both masochist and sadist. Oh well, this was his fantasy and he was enjoying it. He rubbed his thumb over his tip and continued his pumping motions. He was breathing heavily.

 

He thought about Sherlock telling him what to do. Sherlock's voice. "Oh fuck" he whispered to himself, "I'm close"

 

Maybe Sherlock would cum untouched just at the site of John pleasuring himself. John jerked off with vigor now, no longer caring about making it last.

 

When John had kissed Sherlock, he had found the other man's lips surprisingly soft. He wondered what those lips would feel like wrapped around his cock.

 

 Hot spurts splashed against his hand and the shower wall. It was quickly washed away by the water.

 

John leaned against the wall trying to catch his breath. He glanced at the closed bathroom door. If Sherlock knew what he thought about...he shook the idea out of his head. He did not want to think of what would happen if 'married to his work' Sherlock knew that his flatmate thought about him in that way.

 

On the other side of the bathroom door, Sherlock had a hand clasped firmly around his mouth to keep quiet. His other hand was still wrapped around his now unswollen member. He carefully removed his hand trying to keep as much of his semen from rubbing onto his trousers as possible. He quietly walked to his room to find a towel to clean himself up.


	4. Kisses

Sherlock woke up at 5 am. He had fallen asleep after he cleaned himself up. Starting a sexual relationship with John could improve his sleeping patterns. John was always telling him he needs to sleep more. John was also always telling others that he wasn't gay. He was also John 'Three Continents' Watson...there was no way he hadn't experimented with his sexuality.

Sherlock needed to gage how open John would be to his advances. Perhaps he could woo the good doctor at the same time...two birds, one stone as they say. How does one go about wooing? He lay in bed formulating a plan until the sun came up.

 John got up and got ready for work. When he came downstairs he found Sherlock sat at the kitchen table bent over the thumb that had gone in the microwave alongside a piece of metal. Sherlock had a pair of tweezers and was moving pieces of flesh about.

"You're not actually trying to reconstruct it are you?", John asked but received no answer. He went to put the kettle on and frowned at the microwave.

 "We're going to have to go get a new one this weekend...unless you can convince Mycroft to have one delivered to us."

 Sherlock looked up, "I highly doubt Mycroft would be pleased with the thought of being used to run errands."

 "Exactly!" John replied triumphantly. Sherlock smirked and went back to the destroyed thumb.

 After his breakfast, John went to put on his coat. He looked up to find himself face to face with Sherlock.

 "Jesus Sherlock!"

 Sherlock softly but quickly kissed John before walking back to the kitchen.

 "Wh..." John stood at the door, puzzled. He brought his fingers to his lips.

 "You're going to be late," Sherlock shouted from the kitchen.

 "I..." What just happened? John convinced himself that he must have dreamt the kiss. Nothing else made sense. He left for work.

 

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, heart pounding. His decision to go kiss John good bye was part of his plan to research whether or not John would be open to a shift in their relationship. He thought he would be able to use John's reaction in order to gage how open John would be to the idea. John's lack of reaction was not useful. Maybe he had retreated to the kitchen too quickly?

 

His research had informed him that a good way to "test the waters" was to go in for a peck. Said research did also note that the peck was to be on the cheek. _Dull_. Sherlock determined a peck on the lips would be the best way to let his intentions known while getting a reaction from John.

 

He had certainly surprised John but he wanted a more telling reaction. Perhaps John needed to think things over and would bring it up later that night.

 

 

~~~~

 

John returned from work with a bag concealing items he would use on the thumbs. They spent the evening working on their experiment and chuckling. To Sherlock's frustration, the kiss was not mentioned.

 

~~~~

 

The next morning, when John was about to head out to work, Sherlock came up to him and kissed him. It was, again, a soft and short kiss. Sherlock took a step back and stared at John. John stared back. Sherlock had clearly gone mad. Or this was an experiment...hmm on second thought, this was definitely an experiment. John did not want to know what the goal of the experiment was exactly. He turned around and left.

 

Once the door was shut behind John, Sherlock threw his hands up into the air. His John was usually quite good at being over dramatic. What could his lack of reaction mean?

 

~~~~

 

The following morning, Sherlock kissed John again. John narrowed his eyes staring at Sherlock and left.

 

"Oh, come on!" Sherlock yelled at the empty room.

 

~~~~

 

The fourth morning fell on a Friday. John was in a good mood since the weekend was in sight. He showered, got dressed and went down to have tea and beans on toast. After his breakfast he washed his dishes and placed them in the drying rack. He headed to the door to put on his coat. True to form, Sherlock appeared. Not giving much of a second thought, John grabbed the lapels of his bathrobe and pulled him in for a kiss. This was not like the quick soft pecks Sherlock had been giving him. John parted his lips against Sherlocks'. His tongue reached out to softly lick Sherlock's closed lips which then parted themselves, most likely out of shock. John deepened their kiss before backing up and leaving.

 

Sherlock looked around the room as if it held the answer as to what had just happened.  

 

John smiled to himself as he walked down Baker street. Sherlock had been confusing him all week with his strange kissing experiment. It was only fair that the tables be turned. He stopped walking abruptly and sighed. They needed to talk about what was happening. John needed to lay out some ground rules. He knew Sherlock was not taking into consideration how this was affecting John. These morning kisses were not helping John get a handle on his crush for the mad scientist.

 

 


	5. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...small amount of crack may have creeped into this chapter...oops

As John walked home, his resolution to talk to Sherlock about the kisses grew stronger. He was a soldier. He had been in war zones. Talking to his sociopathic flatmate about the inappropriateness of what was happening would be easier in comparison.

 

When John turned the corner and neared 221 Baker street he noticed a cab outside their apartment. Sherlock was standing near it, texting, while the cabbie was loading their luggage.

 

Their luggage?

 

Sherlock looked up, "Hurry up John!"

 

"Sherlock, what is going on?"

 

"Case!"

 

"Where are we going?"

 

"Cardiff. Apparently Lestrade is friends with the DI there and they need our help."

 

"Right. And you packed for me?"

 

"It was faster. If we catch the next train we can be in Cardiff by 7pm. We'll drop our bags off at the hotel and head to the crime scene." Sherlock finished his sentence by slipping into the cab.

 

John followed suit.

 

Sherlock didn't say anything until they were sat in the train. As the train left the station, John noticed they were the only ones in the carriage.

 

"Mycroft." Sherlock explained.

 

"Right...why?"

 

"Apparently we caused a bit of a commotion last time we took a train. It would seem people don't like over hearing conversations detailing murders."

 

"Ah, well that makes sense, I guess."

 

Sherlock looked out the window.

 

"Are you going to give me details about the case?" John asked.

 

"I don't have any." Sherlock responded.

 

"Pardon? You accepted a case without getting the details? How do you know it won't be boring?"

 

"It seems something about the murder weapon is hard to describe and best seen in person. Lestrade promised me 5 cold cases if I find it to be anything under a 7."

John chuckled. Sherlock pulled one of his bags towards him. Out of it he pulled Guess Who.

 

John looked at him like he had grown a second head.

 

"What?" Sherlock asked.

 

"I just...I expected you to pull out a body part...not a board game."

 

"We have two hours to kill and no details on the case to discuss. I figured you would appreciate not being bored. My research indicates these sorts of games are humorous to the general population."

 

Sherlock handed the red tray to John. John placed it down on the table in front of him and started standing his tabs up. He quickly noticed that Sherlock had altered the game. Only the first two rows had pictures, and they were pictures of people they knew. Across from him, Sherlock was flicking his tabs up unfazed.

 

"Ok. You need to explain this." John looked at Sherlock awaiting his answer.

 

"I already had the pictures."

 

John crossed his arms over his chest waiting for Sherlock to elaborate.

 

"The forgery case we had a while back. I had a bunch of these pictures made in case we needed to create fake IDs to infiltrate the forging world. The lack of intellect the forger had made him far too easy to catch and I did not have to make use of these pictures."

 

"Ignoring the fact that you were going to use my picture on fake IDs without telling me, you just decided to put these in the Guess Who board?" John was astounded. This was something a ...regular...human would do. Never in a thousand years would he have thought Sherlock would get the idea.

 

"Don't be so surprised John. I looked up fun two player games and this came up." Sherlock finished raising his tabs and grabbed a picture from the deck.

 

Little did John know, this was the first step to Sherlocks' new plan. He would use this game to get John comfortable playing on the train. He was certain a round of this 'Guess Who' would be over quickly and they could then move on to the real game Sherlock wanted to play.

 

His internet search had found it to be the only game where players had the option to choose a male or female partner. He wanted to see which John would choose and how John would react when he opted for the male partner. 

 

John chose his own card and they were ready to start.

 

"Alright, you can't ask normal questions!" John announced. "I'll go first." John looked at the 12 pictures on his board. "Do you consider yourself to be the dumbest human being alive?"

 

Sherlock snorted before responding in the negative. John flicked Anderson's picture down.

 

"Are you on a diet?" Sherlock asked.

 

"Ha! No."

 

Sherlock flicked Mycroft's picture down.

 

"Are you a mad bastard?", John asked.

 

"No."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

Sherlock gave him a pointed look and John proceeded to knock down his flatmates' picture.

 

At that point a trolley came by and John got himself a tea. Sherlock noted that his plan to get John comfortable was well on its way.

 

"Are you in love with Mycroft?" Sherlock questioned, right when John was taking his first sip. This caused the blogger to choke a bit before composing himself and giving Sherlock a wide-eyed look.

 

"Oh as if you don't know who I'm talking about!" Sherlock accused.

 

"No, I am not." John answered, shaking his head and returning to his tea. Sherlock flicked the picture of Lestrade down.

 

It was John's turn. "Do you need an attitude adjustment?"

 

"No!" Sherlock replied, enthusiastically. John eliminated Donovan from his possibilities.

 

"Are you the worlds' greatest genius?" John rolled his eyes before answering with a short "No." Sherlock pushed his own picture down.

 

"Do you make fabulous pasta?"

 

"No." Sherlock replied. John flicked Angelo's picture.

 

"Are you most definitely not my house keeper?" Sherlock asked with a hint of a smile creeping on his lips.

 

John chuckled, "Nope." Mrs Hudson was out.

 

"Do you work in a morgue?"

 

"Yes." Sherlock responded, secretly happy that this game was over and they could move on to the main event.

 

"You're Molly! I win!" John explained, a smiled invading his face.

 

"That was dull. Let's try this game."  Sherlock announced while pulling out a game box that was in pristine condition. John deduced (because he was able to make his own deductions from time to time, thank you very much) that Sherlock had purchased the game specifically to play with him. He didn't say anything as to not embarrass the consulting detective. In all honesty, he was amused and didn't want to ruin the fun.

 

"The Game of Life." Sherlock announced as he placed the box on the table between them and grabbed Guess Who to put it away.

 

John opened it and started setting everything up.

 

"Do you know how to play?" Sherlock asked.

 

"Of course, although I haven't played in ages. Do you?"

 

"Of course I do." Sherlock had made a point to read the instructions while he waited for John to get back from work.

 

John grabbed the green car and set a blue peg in the driver's seat. Sherlock grabbed the blue car and did the same. "I will not be going to university!" Sherlock declared, placing his car on the 'start career' side.

 

"Didn't you go to university in real life?" John questioned.

 

"Yes and if I had know how useless it was going to be I would have skipped it. I can teach myself much more effectively than those buffoons who call themselves professors."

 

They started the game. John refused to let Sherlock bend the rules and insisted they would play the 'real' way. This lead to John being a teacher and, to his outmost enjoyment, Sherlock end up being an Artist. Sherlock was not as amused as John was.

 

"Clearly, I'm a composer", Sherlock attempted to justify.

 

"Nah, you're a painter!" John replied while attempting not to laugh.

 

"Artists come in many form, John."

 

The game continued. Finally, Sherlock landed on the 'Get married' square. He grabbed a blue peg and installed it in the passenger seat beside the driver. He glanced up at John. John was making a point to stare at the board.

 

"Problem?" Sherlock asked.

 

"Nope," John replied finally looking up, "It's fine. It's all fine."

 

"You say that a lot."

 

"Well, let's just say I'm surprised." John was met by a quizzical look and continued, "I just thought you were asexual or something and I was sure you were going to denounce the uselessness of marriage and refuse to take a spouse." There. He said it. His thoughts on Sherlock's sexuality (outside of his fantasies, of course) had been worded. Maybe Sherlock would make his death a quick and painful one. John mustered up his courage and looked at Sherlock. Apparently he had nothing to worry about, Sherlock was clearly lost in thought.

 

Interesting. John did not see him as a sexual being? He would need to change that if he was going to succeed in getting John to sleep with him. Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of John coughing loudly and spinning the wheel.

 

Two turns later, it was John's turn to land on 'Get married'. He grabbed a blue peg. Sherlock put his hands together and went into his thinking pose.

 

John shrugged, "When in Rome."

 

Now this was interesting.

 

John ended up with one kid, which he named Hamish and declared himself a "proud papa!"

 

Sherlock ended up with twins, a boy and two girls. He needed an extra car to tote around his large family. He refused to name any of them.

 

The train went over crossing tracks which caused the carriage to shake. This, in turn, caused the box containing the pegs to fall to the ground.

 

John started giggling.

 

"What's so funny?" Sherlock asked.

 

John pointed at the pegs on the ground, "There's been a murder!"

 

Sherlock joined in the giggling. In his fit, John accidently knocked the board over.

 

This caused the detective and his blogger to laugh even louder.

 

They got up and started picking up the pieces.

 

"We should be in Cardiff shortly," Sherlock announced.

 

"Probably a good thing we ended the game. I hate to think what you would have done if you landed on 'Get Divorced'" John said, barely containing his giggles.

 

"If only!", Sherlock exclaimed, "Clearly my husband was insane. Why else would he adopt so many children!"

 

"Maybe he did it for a case."

 

"Don't be daft John, who else but you would follow me around on my mad adventures?"

 

Putting the remaining pieces into the box, John smiled softly at Sherlock and returned to his seat. They spent the rest of the train ride in silence.

 

It was moments like these that made John think he was the mad one. He had stopped dating a few months ago. He really didn't want to know what reason Sherlock must have deduced to explain John's lack of dates. John had stopped searching for someone to share his life with when he realised that there was no one else he would rather spend his time with other than Sherlock.


	6. Elephant

"Hurry up John!" Sherlock shouted while standing beside a cab outside the station.  
  
"It would go faster if you would help me you git!"  
  
"You invaded Afghanistan, you can handle luggage,”, replied Sherlock, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.  
  
"There are more bags than I have arms! How many days are you planning on staying  
 here anyways?"  
  
"It is unknown how long the case will take to solve. The hotel is booked for the weekend."  
  
"The...the weekend? You packed two suitcases and a bloody bag for 2 days?"  
  
"They wouldn't give me details. I packed to be prepared."  
  
"Next time, I'm the one packing. You're not allowed  anymore," John declared as he reached the cab.

 

The ride was spent in silence. Sherlock was busy texting and John was content looking out at the streets they drove down. It looked like their hotel was nicely located. John wondered if he would have time to walk down to the bay.  
  
When they got to their hotel the concierge met them at the door to help with their bags. Sherlock instructed the cabbie to wait for them as they would return shortly.  
  
Once inside, John looked around at the large lobby...it looked like a rather expensive hotel.  
  
"Don't worry, I used Mycroft's card" Sherlock whispered to John before walking up to the desk to check in.

 Sherlock had in fact used his own card to book the room but he knew John always worried about trivial things such as money and he didn't feel like arguing about it at this particular moment. He was in a rush to get to the crime scene.

  
  
John stood in the middle of the lobby, feeling a bit out of place. He watched as Sherlock spoke to the concierge. The middle aged man with greying hair gave John an odd look. 

  
  
Sherlock walked back to John. "He'll handle our bags. The DI in charge of the case is waiting for us on scene."  
  
John looked back at the concierge who was now placing their bags on an old fashioned trolley.  
  
"John!" John turned back to face Sherlock who was now waiting by the doors. He jogged to catch up.  
  
Once back in the cab, Sherlock gave an address to the driver and they were on their way.

"You have concerns?" Sherlock asked while texting.  
  
"Will our bags be ok? Maybe we should have brought them to our rooms ourselves."  
  
"It's his job. They'll be fine." Sherlock answered, still more preoccupied with his mobile than the conversation.  
  
"He gave me a strange look," John said, his hands turning to fists.  
  
"You reminded him of his son who has recently come out of the proverbial closet." A confused look settled on Johns' face. Sherlock continued "He thought we were a couple. He's just getting used to his sons' news and when I mentioned that the luggage was ours he looked your way. The look was not malicious in any way. It was but a slip as he struggled to remain in his professional character while thinking of his son."  
  
"And you figured all this out based on...?" John questioned, trying really hard to ignore the bit where, once again, someone thought him and Sherlock were a couple.  
  
"His watch. No scratch marks. New. Stylish. Clearly a gift...ah here we are!" Sherlock cut his deduction short, favoring the excitement of the crime scene over the banal watch deduction.  
  
He dashed out of the cab and walked briskly towards the house, his curly hair ruffled by a slight breeze. John shot an annoyed look his way and paid the cabbie.

 

The taxi had rolled to a stop in front of a rather posh home. The property had been roped off. Sherlock slipped under the tape ignoring the copper fumbling to find words to stop this man that clearly didn't understand the idea of police tape.  
  
"I'm John Watson. That idiot was Sherlock Holmes," John provided as a way of explanation as he approached the officer.  
  
"Oh, right. DI Rees is expecting you. She's waiting inside the house."  
  
"Ta", John replied with a nod.  
  
John caught up to Sherlock who was talking to a woman under the archway of a rather large set of wooden doors. John presumed it was the DI. Unfortunately, she already looked annoyed with Sherlock. Sherlock left her right as John approached.

John extended his hand and introduced himself to the woman. She did not shake his hand.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” she spat out while signalling that he should just go inside.

 

The doctor found his flatmate waiting for him in a long hallway. Sherlock was noticing multiple pictures mounted to the wall, most of which depicting various- and quite trivial- occurrences. John took notice of the luxurious décor.

 “So what did you say to her to piss her off?”

 “I only advised DI Rees that her infatuation for DI Lestrade were rather futile.”

 John grinned, then remembered that they were at a crime scene and attempted to return to a more neutral expression. “Did you just cock-block Greg?”, he asked, trying and failing to keep his smile at bay.

  Sherlock raised an eyebrow and answered if a mater of fact way: “I can declare with certainty that I have never been, nor will I ever go, anywhere near Lestrade’s genitalia.”

  The shorter man rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, “It’s an expression, oh nevermind.”

  This fell on deaf ears. John turned in time to notice Sherlock slipping into the adjacent room. A man wearing a blazer identifying him as being a part of the Cardiff Animal Control was standing at the door.

 

Upon entering the room, Sherlock gazed around the parlour.  He was taken aback by...

 “An elephant! There’s a bloody elephant in the room!”, provided the man. He stood aside to let John take his place beside Sherlock.

 Unlike the look of shock and surprise on the bloggers’ face, the matching look on the consulting detective’s face left as soon as it appeared.

 He went to work.

 Blood spatter on the wall: minor. Victim: young, well-dressed male. Beneath his body, a pool of blood: disturbed. Elephant tracks. The elephant? Clearly didn't know the importance of not contaminating a crime scene. Small. Obviously not a house pet. Too loud for that. The walls, freshly painted.  The floor, heavily damaged. Seemed to be in decent shape were it not for elephant tracks.

 

 “John.”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you see?”

  “An elephant, Sherlock! There is an elephant in the room!”

  “Don't be so dense, John, even the dog catcher was able to see that much.”

 

John pursed his lips. Of course. An elephant in the sitting room could easily be set aside! How could he have thought Sherlock would think it clever? He looked around the room. Finding little to add about the room itself, he approached the victim.

 

“Male victim in his late twenties. Seems to have...a puncture wound in his stomach,” said John.

Sherlock exited the parlour for a brief moment while John examined the body further.

“The way the skin and tissue are torn, it would have to have been something quite large...Something like...” He slowly turned towards the elephant as he spoke. Upon closer inspection, the doctor found dried blood on its left tusk. “...like an elephant tusk! The elephant is our murder weapon,” exclaimed John triumphantly.

 

"That was obvious the moment we walked in. You're slipping," Sherlock replied while heading out of the room again.

 

"I've had a long day!" John provided as an excuse. Sherlock returned to the room. John stood back, patiently watching the man at work.


	7. Bed

Sherlock hadn't spent much time at the crime scene before he announced that he had all that he needed. This was followed by another silent cab ride back to the hotel.

John inserted the key into the lock of their hotel room - singular. He was still trying to wrap his mind around that bit. He unlocked it and opened the door.

The open door revealed large bay windows that would allow the suns’ warm rays to sift through the light window coverings and land on a thick yet comfortable area rug. John, entering the room with Sherlock behind him, quickly glanced around the room. He found that the bathroom was near the front door. Next to the windows, there were two arm chairs and a small table. “Perfect for afternoon tea,” thought the doctor. As his gaze shifted towards the right side of the room, he noticed a single yet large bed. Single. One room. One bed.

“It was the only room available on such short notice.”

An answer to an unasked question? Was that a hint of nervousness in his voice? John had known the great Sherlock Holmes to get excited when intellectually stimulated, but nervousness was not a common phenomenon for him.

“I’m sorry?”

“You were wondering why there is a single bed. I refuse to spend the weekend in an uninspiring hotel room simply for the sake of having two beds.”

“I didn’t...How did you...”

John did not argue with Sherlock, nor did he ask how the latter knew what he was thinking. After all, it was quite logical that hotels would not have “inspiring” rooms available with such short notice.

While John tried to wrap his mind about the one bed situation, Sherlock stepped into the bathroom. Tiled floor. Pedestal sink, simple yet effective. Mirror. Reflects proper proportions.

Sherlock caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, removed his scarf and looked at the rest of the room.

Shower. Spacious. Tub. Larger than average. Capacity of 325 liters. Enough room for two with sufficient water to be pleasant. Room and amenities as advertised.

Sherlock returned to the main room and carefully removed his coat, placing it on one of the arm chairs.

"If it bothers you, we can call to have a cot brought up for you to sleep on," he proposed to John, managing to keep his tone neutral.

"Wait! Why would I have to sleep on it?", John asked a little indignant.

"You're the one having an issue with sharing a bed."

"I, what, no."

"It's clearly large enough for us to both sleep in comfortably."

"No. Yes. It's fine."

Sherlock fell unceremoniously unto the bed, legs dangling off it. He brought his hands together and up to his face.  
  
John kicked one of the dangling legs."Oi!"  
  
Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows to look at John.  
  
"You are not entering you mind palace while lying sideways across the bed! No! I am tired and I will be needing sleep once I have a shower."   
  
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but John cut him off before he could. "No! This is not up for discussion! Move to occupy only one side of the bed. And not sideways!"  
  
Sherlock plopped himself back down and wiggled and wormed himself into a normal location. He gave John a look that dared him to comment on the obscene movements.  
  
John turned to look at their bags. "Which one is my stuff in?", he asked turning back to Sherlock who had, unfortunately, already entered his mind palace and would not be answering John any time soon.  
  
John sighed and crouched down to go through the first bag. He found that it only contained Sherlock's clothes. "Did you really need to bring three robes!" He shouted at the unresponsive lump on the bed.  
  
He opened the second suitcase and was met with more of Sherlock's things. He shoved his hand into its contents, hoping that maybe his flatmate had tossed his things in as well. His hand hit an object. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed triumphantly.  
  
He pulled out a toiletry bag...which, of course, ended up being Sherlock's. He kept it out, just in case.  
  
Two suitcases and none of his clothes. He eyed the travel bag and rolled his eyes pulling it towards himself. It contained a couple of his trousers, pants, shirts, a jumper...finally he found his pajama bottoms. Officially too exasperated to look for anything else, he grabbed the bottoms and Sherlock's toiletry bag before heading to the bathroom.

John stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The floor felt warmer than he had expected it to be. “Must be a heated floor,” he thought. He set Sherlock's toiletry bag neatly by the sink.

John chuckled at the thought of Mycroft paying for a weekend stay at a luxurious hotel in Cardiff for his brother and his...assistant? flatmate? John settled on “friend” as a designation for himself. He didn’t care to question exactly what he was to Sherlock at this time.

Having not yet been in the bathroom, John looked around. First, he noticed the tub. He estimated it was more than adequate for two grown men. John chased the thought from his head.

He had just about succeeded in chasing the image of Sherlock in the tub when the shower came into full view. It was quite spacious. John turned on the water and found the pressure to be very welcoming...inviting, even.

Once John was in the shower a thought occurred to him - he was about to sleep beside his flatmate that had been giving him strange good bye kisses all week. He had completely forgotten about the kisses and his resolution to discuss it with Sherlock. He knew Sherlock was currently in his mind palace so it would have to wait...plus he really didn't know where the conversation would end up and if it would make things awkward with Sherlock. The last thing he wanted was to spend an awkward night lying awake beside a ticked off detective. He really needed a good nights’ sleep. He would have to wait until the case was solved to talk to Sherlock about the inappropriateness of using him for physical experiments.  
  
He eventually got out of the shower and dried himself off with one of the plush hotel towels. He briefly considered throwing a bunch of the thick towels in the tub and sleeping in there.  
  
He hadn't found his toothbrush or a toiletry bag of his own while ruffling through the luggage. He opened Sherlock's pouch and grabbed the toothpaste. He squeezed a bit of it onto his finger and rubbed his teeth. It would have to do for the night.  
  
Once he was done he shamelessly looked through the contents of the pouch. Sherlock had brought a small bottle of his own shampoo. John opened it and took a sniff. The smell invaded his senses. There was something about the smell of Sherlock that just calmed him. John didn't want to think too much about what that meant. He put the little bottle back and zipped up the bag. He didn't know what he had been expecting, a bunch of condoms? He chuckled to himself. Perish the thought of Sherlock actually having sex...outside of John's fantasies.  
  
He put his pj bottoms on and paused. He had been so frustrated at the lack of his clothes found in the suitcases that he hadn't thought of grabbing a shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was still toned...well, sort of...more average really, especially compared to how his body was when he was in the army.  
  
Hopefully Sherlock would be too far into his thoughts to pay notice to him.

When he left the bathroom, he found a still fully clothed Sherlock lying on top of the covers, eyes closed.

John turned the lights off. Sherlock would simply have to content himself with deducing the case in the dark.

John slipped under the covers. "Try to sleep at some point," he spoke into the darkness.

 

~~~~~

 

The next morning John awoke to warmth. Nice warmth.

Wait. That was definitely skin on skin contact he was feeling.

John opened his eyes.

That was definitely an arm draped around him.

John blinked.

There was a moan.

A deep moan definitely coming from a not-as-tall-as-he-looks detective.

John very slowly  manoeuvred himself to turn around.

The foreign arm somehow remained around him.

He now found himself face to face with a sleeping Sherlock whose hair appeared messier than normal...was that even possible?

Wait. Sleeping Sherlock?

Sherlock never slept while on a case.

Something dawned on John.

"Sherlock!", he voiced rather aggressively, not caring how rude it was to wake his flatmate.

Sherlock groaned, unlatched himself from John and turned around. He proceeded to pull the covers over his face.

"Sherlock!", John repeated, "Please tell me you texted DI Rees to advise her you solved the case? And why are you not wearing a shirt!" He knew this was a little hypocritical but it's not like he packed his own clothes so he hadn't had a choice in the matter.   

"Dull." came the sleepy reply.

"For the love of..." John got out of bed and walked over to his mobile. He then remembered he did not have the DI's number. He walked over to Sherlock's mobile.

-5 next texts-

Lestrade [10:17pm]

\- What the hell did you say to Stacey?

Lestrade [10:18pm]

\- Why the hell is she telling me we need to keep our relationship professional?

Lestrade [10:20pm]

\- Is it that bloody difficult for you not to be a wanker?

Lestrade [10:25pm]

\- Seriously what did you tell her?

Lestrade [10:28pm]

\- Answer me now or I'm letting your brother know where you are.

 

John snorted and guessed that Stacey must be DI Rees. At that exact moment he heard his own mobile vibrate. He placed Sherlock's back where it was and opened his own message folder.

 

Unknown [8:50am]

\- Do come outside John.

 

Fantastic. Bloody brilliant. Just what John needed. A polite kidnapping to start the morning off right!

 

He looked down at himself. His phone buzzed again.

 

Unknown [8:51am]

\- Feel free to put some clothes on first.

 


	8. Toy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Once dressed, John headed out of the hotel, leaving a still sleeping Sherlock behind.  
  
He was greeted by bright sunlight which made him smile...until a black car drove up and stopped in front of him.  
  
"What do you want Mycroft?", he asked while entering the car.

 

The person waiting inside said car was, however, not Mycroft.

 

Much prettier, John thought.  
  
"Good morning Anthea", John said, not actually expecting an answer.

 

At least Mycroft spoke to him. No. Scratch that. John was not going to give any points to Mycroft.  
  
The car stopped in front of the stadium. Anthea got out of the vehicle without looking up from her phone. How did she do that?  
  
John got out as well and followed her into the building. Eventually, she signaled him to enter one of the locker rooms.  
  
"Good morning John", greeted Mycroft.  
  
"Gotta say, this is a step up from your usual abandoned building locations. Not sure why you chose a locker room though, figured you as a expensive box seat kinda guy."  
  
This received zero reaction from Mycroft.  
  
"You've slept with my brother."  
  
John threw his hands in the air.  
  
"No. I did not," he replied, patience already wearing thin.  
  
"Sleeping together does not always mean having sex, John."  
  
John shot Mycroft an exasperated look.  
  
"Did you, or did you not, spend last night in the same bed as my dear brother?"  
  
"There was a last minute case and no other available room!"  
  
"Hm."  
  
"Hm?" John took a step towards Mycroft, “Hm? What is it to you anyways!"  
  
"You know I worry, John."  
  
"Yes, apparently you do. Not sure why Sherlock having a bed mate is cause for worry, Mycroft."  
  
"It is the choice of bed mate that has me concerned, John."

John’s patience was now obliterated. He could be having a nice morning cuppa right now but no. Instead he was dragged here to be insulted. 

   
"Well, Mycroft. I assure you I did not, nor do I plan on taking advantage of him, Mycroft."  
  
"I'm not sure you understand the implications involved." There was a pause. "Do explain why you insist on continuously saying my name."  
  
"To demonstrate how annoying it is! Mycroft," responded John, rather pleased with himself.  
  
"I see Sherlock's level of maturity has rubbed off on you."  
  
"Did you really come to Cardiff and drag me here to make sure I was respecting your brothers’ virtue?"  
  
"You need to keep in mind that Sherlock never does anything the normal way."  
  
"No shit. Look, either stop being cryptic and say what you're actually worried about or bring me back to my hotel. I'm hungry."  
  
Mycroft pursed his lips. He rather not come right out and say that Sherlock was quite obviously plotting something rather crude.

 

He hoped the doctor would continue being oblivious and Sherlock would give up. The Queen only knew how easily bored Sherlock got.  
  
"Enjoy your weekend..." Mycroft's face looked like he had just ate a lemon.  
  
"You wanna say John, don't you!" John burst out laughing and made his way out of the locker room.

 

Anthea was no longer there.

 

Regardless, he somehow found his way back out of the stadium where the black car was thankfully waiting, Anthea inside it.  
  
She handed him a bag. John peaked in it and found a couple of Danishes.  
  
"Ta." He grabbed one and ate it.  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Sherlock had gotten out of bed the second he heard John leave. Why had John left? He had received a text. Mycroft. The man really needed to learn to stop being such a meddling prat.  
  
Sherlock started pacing the room. He had awoken before John and thought it the perfect situation for an experiment. He turned around in the bed, molded his body to Johns and wrapped an arm around the smaller man. He had deleted the word was for such a position a long time ago.  
  
On his side, he felt the experiment rather...comfortable. He could feel John's soft pulse against him and enjoyed the rhythm of his heart beat.  
  
When John finally woke up he hadn't jolted away. On the contrary, he slowly turned around to face him. His heart beat had picked up.  
  
Sherlock couldn't understand why John's next move was to yell at him. There wass no way that was proper bed etiquette.  
  
Why must his John be so unpredictable!  
  
John's next move was to ask him why he was not wearing a shirt.

 

Was his blogger not aware that Sherlock was also only in his pants? Why focus on the lack of shirt when John was, himself, not wearing one?  
  
Sherlock walked over to his mobile and checked his messages.  
  
"Who the hell is Stacey?", he asked the empty room.  
  
He texted DI Rees telling her he had solved the murder.

 

Easy. Barely a 3. How these idiots survived daily life was the real mystery.

  
~~~~~~

  
John got back to the hotel room and noticed a lack of Sherlock Holmes.  
  
"Sherlock?"  
  
"In here." The voice came from the bathroom.

 

John felt it safe to enter since the door was ajar. Sherlock was most likely brushing his teeth. He could tell him off for omitting to pack his toothbrush!  
  
John walked through the door.  
  
Sherlock was most definitely not brushing his teeth.  
  
He was having a bath...thankfully a bubble bath. All he could see was Sherlock’s naked torso...he did not need to know what was happening beneath the bubbles. What were his hands doing?  
  
"What did Mycroft want?", Sherlock asked, cataloguing John's reaction.  
  
"Who knows." John replied, trying to look anywhere but directly at Sherlock.  
  
His eyes settled on a neatly folded pair of dark purple satin pants sitting on the counter. His imagination brought him directly to an image of Sherlock wearing them.  
  
"Interesting," the deep voice echoed in the room.  
  
"Not really," John replied, forcing his eyesight back to Sherlock's face.

 

Stay on the face.

 

Do not look anywhere but the man's face.

 

"It was his usual uselessly cryptic kidnapping message," he finally found the voice to say.  
  
"I wasn't talking about Mycroft."  
  
John raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I find it interesting that you find my pants more captivating then the sight of me in a bubble bath."  
  
John shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. "I...do not know what to respond to that."  
  
"Who's Stacey?"

"Huh?"

"Lestrade was on about a Stacey. Who's Stacey?"

"Seriously? You can't deduce that yourself?" Sherlock looked unimpressed so John continued, "She's DI Rees. You met her and ticked her off last night."

"Oh. Trivial."

"Have you told her how the murder was solved?"

"Yes,” Sherlock responded, shifting a bit which caused the bubbles to move back and forth. "She wants me to come in to the station to give a statement."

 

What were theses bubbles made from? They were quite thick. John couldn't see a thing under them...not that he was looking.

 

"Well. You should do that."

Sherlock eyed John.

John stared straight back.

"So," the doctor pushed, "are you going to go in?"

"If I must."

"I think that's the general idea."

"I guess I should get dressed," Sherlock made a move to get out of the tub.

"NO," all but yelled John.

Sherlock froze.

"Wait til I leave the room!"

Silence.

"I'm going to go to the bay," John said, "You go solve the murder. Just wait for me to leave before you exit the tub!"

Sherlock returned to a relaxed position.

 

Seriously, what were those bubbles made from! They sloshed back and forth but John couldn't get a glance of what was underneath...he was not looking! Dammit.

 

John turned around right when he felt himself start to blush.

 

"I'll see you later!", he cried out as he left their hotel room.

 

 

~~~~~~

 

 

John returned to the hotel near supper time. His walk to the pier had taken longer than he expected. At least it had been a lovely day. The fresh air was quite nice. He had enjoyed it and had even gone on one of those silly tour boats. He was happy Sherlock hadn't been around to berate him for it. As the sun started to come down he decided that it was time to walk back to the hotel.

 

~~~~~~

 

Sherlock headed to the police station to explain to its resident idiots how the murder had happened. He felt it took far too long for them to clue in.

 

After giving his statement to the moronic DI, Sherlock had stopped at a very specific shop. His plan required a specific...tool.

Once back in the hotel room, his new purchase weighed heavily on his mind. He placed the bag on the night stand.

He paced back and forth, calculating what time John would be returning.

As he strode across the room, he couldn't help but be aware of how his cock rubbed against his trousers.

 

He sat on the edge of the bed momentarily thinking about how the fabric had lightly-almost teasingly- brushed against the tip of his cock. Through the pocket in his trousers, he readjusted himself to be more comfortable. The soft, slick feeling of his silk pants fanned the flames of his arousal.

Sherlock removed his hand from his pocket placed it near his inner hip, slowly guiding it downwards. He allowed his thumb to rest above his semi erect cock, which his fingers then surrounded. Through his trousers, he began slowly stroking his increasingly firm prick until he was fully erect.

 

Whatever thoughts Sherlock had been having were escaping him as the increasing stimulation and pleasure took hold of his senses. Finding himself somewhat trapped in his clothes, Sherlock unzipped himself.  He kept stroking himself as he slid out of his trousers.

Finally, he was void of clothes and he slowly let his naked body lay backwards. He then increased the tempo of his movements and added a light squeeze each time his index and thumb would get close to the tip.

 

The combination of the new rhythm and pressure caused Sherlock to emit a low growl betraying both pleasure and raging desire.

He spread his legs and placed his feet on the edge of the bed.  He slid his free hand towards his hungry hole and began using his middle finger to tease it with circular motions and apply occasional and varying degrees of pressure which set off another- louder- groan. Sherlock’s eyes rolled into his head as he slid a finger inside of himself. Now probing his ass with two fingers- all the while pumping his throbbing hard cock- Sherlock arched his back off the bed, causing his fingers to go in even deeper.

Despite tremendous pleasure pulsing through his body, Sherlock was just lucid enough to realise that he was well equipped for more. He released his prick and reached over to the night stand where he had placed his earlier purchase. Finding his vibrator precisely where he left it, he picked it up.

Sherlock set the motor to run at low speed and began rubbing the pulsating toy against his own throbbing member. He ran it up and down each side of his shaft, pausing with it closer to the tip to fully sense the pleasure coursing through his body.

Sherlock’s body twitched with delight, incidentally causing the vibrator to make contact with his shaft and balls at the same time. A loud moan escaped Sherlock’s mouth and got lost within the walls of the otherwise empty room. He held the toy in that position as he reached for the small bottle of lube. He applied some directly to his hole. The feeling of wetness of the lube caused Sherlock to gasp. He then sufficiently lubed the toy.

He placed the tip of the vibrator lightly against his hole and let it massage him while he stroked himself with his free hand.

He was purposely stroking lazily.

 

He pushed the toy into himself just enough for the widest part of the tip to stretch his hole before pausing to enjoy the sensation. He found he wanted more, much more. He gently pushed it into himself. Inch by inch, Sherlock’s moans and groans became louder and louder. Sherlock felt a sudden jolt of intense pleasure as the depth of the toy allowed for it to stimulate the prostate. He kept it in place for a few seconds, delighting in the newfound sensation.

Sherlock commenced pumping his ass with the toy. His movements were slow and purposeful. As he continued, he began rotating the vibrator about a quarter turn in one direction when inserting and doing the same rotation in the opposite direction when pulling out.

The more Sherlock got excited, the quicker his movements became. He found the ideal mix of speed and deliberate movements to maximise pleasure.

He then went to work furiously on his cock, replacing long and lazy strokes with a faster- almost frenetic- pace made easier by his lubed hand. Where his grip had been rather loose, he was now grasping his shaft firmly. The combination of stimulation between his cock and ass had precum leaking from his tip.

 

That's when John walked in.

 

John quickly turned his back but then proceeded to freeze into place. 

He was torn between leaving, walking over and giving Sherlock a hand or spontaneously combusting.

At least he was able to turn around before losing the ability to move...that image of Sherlock would be seared in his brain for a long time.

John closed his eyes to see if that would help him move.  
  
A slick wet sound indicated that Sherlock hadn’t bothered to stop his…activity...John couldn't blame him really. If he had been that far into what looked like an epic masturbation moment he wouldn't have wanted to stop either.  
  
John wouldn't turn around....he wasn't leaving either...as he stroked himself Sherlock decided to add some vocals. He let out a deliciously sultry and very broken moan as the vibrator hit his prostate.  
  
Johns eyes shot open. He regained movement and was out of the room.

 

Knowing that John had been there made Sherlock’s body was tingle with excitement. His eyes were closed. His breathing, fast and irregular. His pleasure, very vocally expressed - maybe John could hear him through the door?

 Sherlock’s body began to tense up. His moans were no longer made with his usual voice, but with one quivering with excitement.  His toes curled in ecstasy.

With one final stroke, cum erupted from Sherlock’s cock. The first spurt landed on his chest and the second on his stomach while the third landed just above the tip of his prick. He milked the extra few drops of cum from his now softening member.

 

 

 

 

 

John stood in the hallway. That damn dirty moan had gone straight to his cock. Why did the man's voice have to be sooo deep! It should be illegal. 

John knew it was one thing to have spent as long as he did just standing there with his back to his flatmate, but if the naked, sexy, pale skinned, finely toned....come on focus....he knew if the genius had noticed his hard on joining the party, things would become awkward and complicated.  
  
Ok wait a minute...

 

Something dawned on John.

His flatmate was a genius.

Never once before had John walked in on him in any compromising situation.

 

Sure, there were numerous bed sheet incidents but Sherlock was always just lounging around in the most aloof way possible. Always out of sheer laziness. Never because he had been caught in a state of undress.  
  
John, on the other hand, had many near-incidents when he had been in the middle of pleasuring himself and heard his Sherlock come home.  
  
Something was going on.

 

John needed to approach this head on and ask Sherlock outright.

 

He turned around to face their closed hotel room door...ok maybe he would go get a bite to eat then come at the situation head on.  
  
No. He couldn't wait anymore. With his luck, another murder would happen and he wouldn't get the chance to talk to Sherlock.

  
  
He was John Watson, captain, fifth Northumberland fusiliers...

He had been to war and he was a damn good doctor!

He could handle the human body. He's seen countless naked patients before and was nothing if not professional.

 

Sherlock would just have to deal with it.  
  
John took a deep breath and re-entered the room.  
  
He could handle the human body.

Yup. No problem with the human body.

The naked , cum covered Sherlockian human body however...what the hell was he thinking coming back in the room! At least he now had a ton of material for future fantasies.  
  
Collecting himself, John walked into the bathroom.  
  
Sherlock kept lying wantonly on the bed, curiosity peaked.  
  
John came back out and, without looking, he threw a flannel at Sherlock.

Ever the marksman, the flannel landed directly on Sherlock. Sherlock's answering smirk went unnoticed.

  
 "I'm heading out for dinner. I'll see you later," John heard himself say before leaving the room, again.  
  
In retrospect, it was best if Sherlock was wearing clothes when John accused him of whatever he was going to accuse him of being up to. John hadn't figured that part out yet. Dinner and a good think was exactly what John needed. He headed out to find himself a quaint pub.


	9. Questions

Once John left, Sherlock took a moment to clean himself up. He then, naturally, started pacing the room, replaying in his mind what had just happened.

 What felt like an eternity passed by before John returned.

 

"John-"

"ITEM ONE. How did you sssolve the murder."

Sherlock blinked then narrowed his eyes, "You're drunk."

"Brilliant! Genius!"

"You need to have a glass of water in order to reduce your dehydration."

"I neeeed to know how you solved the murrr-derrr.

"At least sit down first. You’re wavering as you stand."

 

John made an undignified huff and sat in one of the arm charms.

 

“Well? Explain!”

 

Sherlock didn’t really feel like explaining the murder to a drunk John but he felt much less like arguing with the intoxicated man. Inebriated humans were not known for their pristine reasoning skills and Sherlock was not known for his patience with stupidity.

 

"It was far too obvious John. The room was built around the elephant," he explained.

"Oooooh of COURSE it was. Cause all murderers take the time to do some construction while they're at it."

"Friendly ones do."

"Huh? Friendly neighbourhood murderer? Sherlock, get to the point!"

"They-"

"No wait hold that thought," John rushed to the loo to have a wiz.

 

He came back and returned to his new chair. He waved at an exasperated Sherlock to continue.

"They knew each other, were close friends in fact. The pictures, in the hallway: A handful showed the victim with the same two men. Mates. Close. All three dressed in the same posh fashion. They frequented the same societal circles."

"Soooo one of them is the murderer?" John cut in to ask, closing one eye to see if that would stop Sherlock from being so blurry.

"Both. Two murderers. Obviously. Well, accidental murderers. The victim asked them to help with some renovations. Odd, seeing as he had the financial means to hire a professional for the job. However, noting the amount of alcohol accompanying them in the photographs, this was most likely done as a bet. Camaraderie. The victim mentioned wanting to renovate - his friends said they could do it - he said they couldn't. A wager was in place."

"Nope. No bloody way you deduced it was a bet!"

"Really John? Did you manage to see absolutely nothing while we were in the room?" Sherlock's tone was becoming rather haughty, "How did you not see the note on the side table which declared victory."

"Ok ok fine but maybe the bet was to see if they could get the elephant in the room!"

"The north wall was clearly new. It had fresh paint on both sides. The floor boards around it: reflecting more light. Could not have been recently polished - why apply glaze to only one small section of the floor?  They were new. Installed once the wall was up.

There was also a wooden bear on the other side of the wall: Varnish was faded on its south side. No windows present. There was, however, a window in the elephant room. Previously to the wall being installed, the light shunned from the window onto the bear causing it's colour to fade where it came in contact with the sun."

 

John giggled.

 

Sherlock looked at him as if he was some unexplainable creature.

 

"Sorry. Ok so you've proved that the wall was new. Why put in an elephant to murder your mate?"

"Boredom, too much money at their disposal and idiocy: Prank. They did not expect to elephant to be scared and accidentally stab the victim. When they returned and found their friend dead, they panicked and ran."

"You're often bored and have too much money...should I be worried?"

"Please. I'm not a moron."

 

"No but you do get bored quite a lot! Which brings us to item TWO!" John accentuated his declaration by lifting both of his index fingers up and placing them side-by-side, "TWO!" he repeated. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

 

"WHY! Why. Why?" John questioned. 

"You are aware of my distaste for repetition."

"What was the kissing experiment for?"

"Oh. That."

"Yes that! Were you trying to see how much saliva was being exchanged?"

"I was not...that would be a useful experiment however..."

"SO why???? Oh and ITEM THREE while we’re at it! The bloody hell was with the show earlier? And don't, DON'T even try to tell me you didn't know I was coming back at that time! Mr. I-deduce-fortune-cookies. You probably timed how long it would take me to walk down to the bay, have a look around and walk back."

"You’re logic is that I can’t possibly deduce that friends made a bet but I can identify fortunes before they are read?”

“What? Don’t change the subject. It’s confusing,” John blinked rapidly trying to get his thoughts in order, “Right, the thing that I saw you doing earlier. Explain!”

“Yes, well..." Sherlock had hoped John would figure out his intentions on his own but this was not going to be happening in the doctors’ current state, "I was attempting to convey...I have recently decided...”

 

John snorted, “The world’s only consulting detective, lost for words!”

Sherlock huffed. The insult on his intelligence gave him the resolution to explain, “You are a very attractive man and since we live together it would be mutually beneficial and convenient for us to start having intercourse...of a sexual nature."

This came out rather quickly.

It took a moment for John’s brain to catch up. Once it did, his jaw dropped.

He then burst into giggles, "Nooo! Sherlock Holmes wants to bang me!" The giggle fit continued.

 

This was not the reaction Sherlock was hoping for.

 

"You don't get to just have this," John gestured wildly at himself, "You gotta court me first!" More giggling.

Sherlock did not have time to ask what exactly that meant because the smaller man rushed to the loo.

The taller man took a moment to remind himself that his flatmate was throwing up because his body was attempting to reject the self-inflicted poison. It had nothing to do with the thought of having sex with him.

 

~~~

 

John woke up the next morning to the sound of someone typing on a keyboard. He had no idea how he ended up in bed. His head was pounding far too much for him to remember anything at that moment.

The sunlight was assaulting him. He grabbed the duvet and pulled it over his head, determined to pass out again and not have to feel his current state of agony.

 

An hour later, he woke up again. Someone was still typing. Why did they have to type so loudly!

 

“Ssshhh”

“Paracetomal is on the bedside table.”

 

John peaked out from under the blanket and found that there were indeed two pills and a glass of water waiting for him. He swallowed the pills and returned to what he felt was an appropriate position to die in.

That’s when he noticed where the typing noise was coming from.

Sherlock was sitting aloof one of the chair, John’s laptop atop of him.

 

“If you hate your laptop so much, buy a new one!” John’s words resonated inside his head.

“It is not about the quality. Yours is just always closer hence more convenient.”

“Do you have to be using it this early in the morning?”

Sherlock looked up from the computer, “It is currently 11:34am.”

“Bugger! I need to get up, we need to check-out before noon.” John made no real attempt at getting up.

“I’ve requested an additional day to our stay. I figured you would be in no state to travel today.”

“Ta.” If this was the moment Sherlock would choose to be thoughtful, John was not going to question it.

“You may go back to sleep if you wish.”

“I can’t, you’re typing too loud! What are you even doing?”

“Researching how to court a flatmate.”

 

For a second there, John thought he was about to throw up again. Way too many memories of last night came flooding back all at once.

 “Ooooh nooooo,” he said, trying to make sense of it, “Nooooo. No?”

 Sherlock made no attempt to help John figure things out.

 

The blogger decided that, once again, the best course of action was to return under the safety of the duvet. This was a conversation best had when he was no longer feeling like death.

 

Sherlock smiled fondly at the lump in the bed and went back to the article he was currently reading “20 things you need to know about courtship”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left lovely comments!


	10. Talk

When John decided he was feeling stable enough to get out of bed it was close to 3pm.  
  
He sat up in bed and was greeted by a covered plate located where his glass of water used to be.  
  
He cautiously lifted the lid. The fabulous aroma wrapped itself around him like an old friend. Chips! Brilliant chips! They looked so greasy, just what he needed.  
  
After practically inhaling said chips, John went to have a shower and felt much better once he was clean.  
  
Not knowing where Sherlock had gone to, he opted to put on one of the thick hotel bathrobes, grabbed his laptop and sat in bed.

 

This was definitely a lazy day. He surfed the web for a little bit and decided he really needed to focus on what he would say to Sherlock. They really needed to have a proper talk.  
  
Sherlock wanted to sleep with him, that much was made clear. He had been researching dating advice this morning...well, courting advice. So... did that mean Sherlock was up for a relationship? Had Sherlock ever been in a relationship? John had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

The thing was... he loved his life with Sherlock. Loved the excitement as much as the frustration. It kept him on his toes.

 

Once you got past the way the man delivered his information, it was easy to tell he had a heart. John had grown quite fond of him.  
  
Sober John mentally thanked Drunk John for somehow managing to not simply sleep with Sherlock. That would have been a disaster. If he actually had a chance to be with Sherlock, he wanted to do it right. This was important.  
  
~~~  
  
Sherlock had spent his day at a coffee shop, observing couples in order to collect data.

 

He returned to the hotel disappointed.  He'd hoped to monitor many flatmates dating but was unable to find any on a first to third date. His research suggested that the first three dates were crucial to building a relationship. Most flatmates he saw had been dating for awhile before moving in - useless.  
  
He returned to their hotel room around 7pm. The aroma lingering in the air indicated that John had ordered himself room service.  
  
His blogger was comfortably sat on the bed watching what was most likely crap tele.  
  
Sherlock removed his scarf and was in the process of removing his coat when John turned the television off and stood up.  
  
"Ok look we need to talk," Sherlock went to respond but John stopped him with a raise of his hand. He continued: "Just listen please. I am very happy with my life right now and part of it is the fact that you're in it. You have decided that it would be mutually beneficial for us to shag, however, I feel that it would be detrimental."  
  
 John had been working on his speech all day and chose his words carefully: "Sex changes things." Sherlock went to say something again but John stopped him once more and went on: "It changes things. Sometimes, even if it's clear that it's just a physical agreement, emotions get involved. I know you don't like emotions and you're married to your work so if that did happen it would make things awkward."  
  
John took a breath and continued: "You might also get bored...well, knowing you, you'll probably get bored. You'll want to end the arrangement, which would be fine of course. The problem is we would still be living together and the dynamics might be altered. It is safer if we just forget this idea of yours and keep things as is."  
  
John exhaled, pleased with his speech.  
  
"May I talk now?"

  
 John nodded.  
  
"Since you have indicated your belief in my distaste of emotions, it is clear that you believe you would be the one to develop...feelings. As well, during your drunken state, you requested I court you. My research indicated that the main difference between courting and dating is the physical aspect."  
  
"I was drunk!" John explained.  
  
"Then...you do not want to attempt to develop a...deeper...relationship?"  
  
Sherlock looked hurt for only a split second but John had noticed it.  
  
"Wait, that's not what I'm saying ...do...you want to...date?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock turned around and stopped. They were stuck in a hotel room together, he didn't have a bedroom to storm into.  
  
"Sherlock, do you want to go on a date with me?" John knew this was probably somehow worse than the sex proposition but something inside him just didn't care anymore. He needed to know. Too many moments had been spent trying to date others just to get Sherlock out of his mind. If Sherlock said no, he would at least know for a fact that it would never be a possibility.  
  
Sherlock turned back to face John.  
  
"Would you?" Sherlock's voice was flat but John could see a hint of nervousness in the man's eyes.  
  
"I would."  
  
"Very well then."  
  
"Good. Yup."  
  
Hating the silence John spoke again: "If you wanted to date why did you start by asking if I wanted to sleep with you?"  
  
"I have yet to come across another human being that captivated my attention like you do. I am not...skilled...in the conventions that accompany dating. As well, I have yet to come across another person that was able to stand my presence, let alone enjoy it, long enough to initiate me into the world of dating."  
  
Sherlock started pacing as he continued, unsure why he was divulging this information to John. "There have been a considerable amount of individuals who have propositioned me for sexual relations. This concept has always felt tedious to me. I do enjoy the usual act of self gratification from time to time but the thought of engaging in such contact with others has been rather appalling...until recently."  
  
A quick glance at John told him that he needed to keep going. John appeared to be having difficulties registering what was being said.  
  
"Hence, I have had experience with being approached for coital interaction but not for dating or courting relations. Also, it had not occurred to me that you would, in fact, be interested in a different kind of partnership other than the one we currently have."  
  
Sherlock felt he had said enough.  
  
John gaped at him. "You've never dated? Or..."

 

John gestured suggestively.  
  
Sherlock gave him a look that clearly suggested he was being a crude imbecile.  
  
John blinked a few times trying to process everything. Sherlock wanted to date him. Sherlock had never dated. Sherlock was definitely a virgin.  
  
When John focused on the room again he saw Sherlock putting his coat on.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I have not had any food today and you do keep insisting it is necessary for me to eat. I shall return later. Don't wait up."  
  
Sherlock rushed out of the room. It was clear that John needed time to think and Sherlock was feeling uncomfortable. He did not enjoy feeling this way and needed some time on his own to assess why this was happening...and why he had pretty much told John that he was absolutely inexperienced in all aspects of romantic relationships.  
  
John stood alone again. That had been interesting. And confusing. Did they just decide to date? Were they dating? It wasn't very clear, was it... Sherlock never had sex but this did mean he never had done anything, with anyone?  Shite! Did that mean John was the first person Sherlock ever kissed?

 

He was giving himself a headache so he walked over to the kettle to make himself some tea. Nothing a good cuppa couldn't fix!  
  
He tried really hard not to think of how strange it was going to be sharing the same bed as Sherlock after learning all that information.  
  
~~~  
  
Sherlock returned once John was asleep. They slept on their separate side of the bed the entire night. In the morning they packed in a comfortable silence and headed back home.

 

  
  
When they finally got back to Baker street, they were greeted by a rather crossed Mrs Hudson. Sherlock had forgotten to put the thumbs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok boring necessary talk now out of the way. I might let the fluff bunnies attack the next chapter.


	11. Sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the really nice comments on the last chapter!

John woke up the next day well rested. He had decided not to over think what might happen with Sherlock. He got ready for work and ate his toast. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. John finished his cuppa and headed out to the surgery. 

 

He came home from work close to 6pm. He walked up the stairs to his cherished flat. The sight that greeted him when he opened the door was not one he would ever have thought possible.  
  
Red colored clothes had been thrown over the lights, dimming them. Rose petals were scattered across...everything really. A well coiffed (well, his curls seemed a little more tamed) Sherlock was standing in the middle of it all.  
  
"I've made dinner!" He announced with pride.  
  
"You. You made dinner?" Expecting a disaster, John very slowly peeked into the kitchen.  
  
The kitchen was spotless. Any sign of experiments had disappeared. There were no dirty dishes. Candles were arranged across the counters and on the table. Three single roses were sitting in separate glass flutes, which were spaced evenly in the middle of the table.

There was also a decanter with what John hoped was wine inside of it. John hadn’t even known they owned a decanter.  
  
It actually smelled good.  
  
"Lasagna! I know you like it," Sherlock provided with a smile.  
  
"Right," John replied, still looking around confused.  
  
"I did something wrong?" A flash of worry crossed Sherlock's face. He quickly arranged his features to hide it. John was too busy looking around to notice it.  
  
"Um it's just that you know I'm a bloke? I mean I guess some guys must like this but this is something I would do to impress a girl. It's not really something I...it's just not really, um, me. I mean it's uh ... I'm going to have to pick up all the petals aren't I!" John was looking around the living room again. Where on earth had Sherlock found so many petals!  
  
"I see. You're more concerned with the tidying than whether or not you'll enjoy your evening with me." There was harshness to Sherlock's words, his lips tightened.

 Before John could say anything, he marched to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.  


"I. Am. An. Arse," John said out loud before heading to Sherlock's room and softly knocking on the door.  
  
Sherlock was sat on his bed, head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid! He had been so focused researching ideas for an excellent first date that he forgot to factor in John’s personality.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!  
  
"Sherlock?" The soft voice originated from the other side of Sherlock's door, "I'm sorry. It's lovely, really. It just surprised me. I had no idea you were planning this. I'm nervous, ok?”

 

No response.

 

“I do enjoy lasagna! We better get it out of the oven before it burns," John tried again.  
  
Sherlock's research strongly indicated that communication was a very important aspect in relationships. John was used to his constant lack of response but Sherlock reasoned that if they were to engage in a romantic evening, not responding at this precise moment would be detrimental to the cause.  
  
He opened his bedroom door.  
  
"My apologies. I will amend my research to reflect what army doctors would like to do on dates," he said, trying to avoid eye contact.  
  
John smiled fondly. "Or you could forgo the research and just go with the flow, be yourself and all that."  
  
Sherlock looked horrified at this proposition.  
  
"Ok, ok! Keep researching,” John chuckled. “Just ask me if I would be up for something before going through a lot of trouble setting it up. We're in this together, you don't have to be devious about it!"  
  
They were in this together. They would find a way to maneuver from being flatmates to something more. His John understood him. Sherlock smiled. John smiled back and they finally locked eyes.

They seemed to gravitate towards each other as if a gravitational force was pulling them together.

John eyes flicked to Sherlock’s lips and back. He really wanted to feel that cupids’ bow against his lips again.  


At that moment, a sound that could only be described as a squee originated from their living room.  
  
They walked back to the living room and found Mrs Hudson standing at the door. Her eyes were wide and she was attempting to cover a very obvious grin with her hands.  
  
"Oh, don't mind me dears. So sorry. Please go back to your lovely evening!" She waved her hands excitedly as she spoke and quickly turned to leave.

She stopped before heading down the stairs, "I haven't seen one of my good friends in a while. Tonight seems like a perfect night to go see her and catch up!"  
  
"Why would tonight be perfect? It's currently raining and the weather is supposed to get quite cold this evening," asked a perplexed Sherlock.  
  
"Well..." Mrs. Hudson blushed a bit, "... to give you privacy dear."  
  
"Don't be foolish. You reside in a separate flat, which isn't even located on the same -"  
  
"Thank you Mrs Hudson," John mercifully butted in., "It really won't be necessary. This is our first date."  
  
"Oh! Really? I thought this must be an anniversary of some sorts."  
  
"We were not together! This is the first date. There have not been any other dates before!" John huffed.  
  
"Yes, dear, and you weren't gay. I remember." She tapped her nose and went downstairs.  
  
John closed the door behind her and shook his head.  
  
He turned around to face Sherlock but the room was void of such a being.  
  
John heard rustling coming from the kitchen. He walked over and saw his flatmate removing the lasagna from the oven.  
  
"That actually looks good, smells amazing," John commented, trying to ease the tension that seemed to be building.  
  
"You seem to be surprised I have cooking abilities," Sherlock responded while grabbing some plates.  
  
"You’ve never cooked before! Maybe next date we can go to one of those science food restaurants."  
  
"Molecular gastronomy."  
  
"Yes, that! Ever been?"  
  
"No, I have not."  
  
John sat down at the table while Sherlock was preparing their plates.  
  
"You told Mrs Hudson this was our first date."It wasn't said as a question but John could tell it was.  
  
"Yes, most dates are supposed to be activities outside of the flat but I think this counts too. Especially after all the effort you've put into it," John was trying to make up for his earlier faux pas.  
  
Sherlock placed a plate in front of John and sat across him to his own.  
  
He smiled sheepishly before grabbing the decanter and pouring them each a glass.  
  
"Ta," John said grabbing his glass.  
  
Sherlock twirled his wine a bit before taking the time to properly smell it. Once he was content with its aroma he took a taste. He tipped his glass a bit, observing the lines through the candlelight as he swashed the liquid around his mouth. He finally swallowed.  
  
"Nice deep ink colour," he stipulated. "Violets. Plums." He looked up at John who had yet to try the wine. "See if you can identify the berries," he encouraged, taking another sip.  
  
A huge grin appeared on John’s face, "You like wine!" he exclaimed.  
  
Sherlock looked puzzled. Why was this making John so happy?  
  
"You like wine because you can deduce it!" John looked positively delighted, "Sherlock Holmes, great wine detective, consulting sommelier, solving one wine at a time!" John burst into laughter.  
  
Sherlock whole heartedly started laughing as well.  
  
As their laughter died down John tried the lasagna. It was delicious! …and familiar…  
  
"You cheater! This is from Angelo's," John accused.  
  
"It is not!" Sherlock responded, undignified. "It is possible to identify which ingredients are used in a sauce and replicate it."  
  
John whistled, impressed. "This is a whole new side of you! You are making breakfast from now on!" He took another bite.  
  
"Am not!" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and took a bite of his lasagna.  
  
"You're going to have to meet my mother. I'll make her cook for you so you can figure out how she does it and reproduce it here. Mums’ home cooked meals every day!" John eyes twinkled as he picked up his wine glass to have a sip.  
  
"I do not believe it is customary to meet a boyfriend's mother this early in the relationship."  
  
"I was kidding," John laughed lightly before it dawned on him..."You just referred to me as your boyfriend."  
  
"Is...that wrong? I already considered you my partner so that word seemed redundant. What would you like to be referred as?"  
  
"Oh it's not really about the title…it's just that usually, a first date does not a boyfriend make."  
  
"Ah, yes. That's true. Many websites referred to an important talk regarding the definition of the relationship. Consensus was that this talk must occur after a handful of successful dates. However, these websites seemed to be predominantly frequented by teenage girls. I didn't believe them to be accurate."  
  
"Good to know you're weeding out the ridiculous sites! You don't usually refer to someone as a boyfriend right on the first date but when do we ever do things the normal way!"  
  
Sherlock smiled and went back to his lasagna.  
  
"Looks like there might be another mumps outbreak." Great John! Talk about viral diseases during a romantic dinner.  
  
"Oh really!" Sherlock looked genuinely interested...of course he would. "You must get me a blood and skin sample from an infected patient as well as a non-infected patient with and one without a vaccination record."  
  
Sherlock took a sip of his wine.  
  
"No! Absolutely not! I am not asking three separate patients if I can have a skin sample so my mad flatmate can experiment on it."  
  
"Boyfriend."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mad boyfriend."  
  
Finishing his lasagna, John shook his head in absolute adoration. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into but he was loving it.  
  
"I do feel a little old for the word boyfriend," he admitted as Sherlock was getting up and grabbing their plates.  
  
"If I knew you would eat on a date, I would have asked you out a long time ago," John commented while Sherlock placed the plates in the sink and turned the kettle on.  
  
"Technically, we're not out."  
  
"You know what I mean!"  
  
Sherlock took their now empty glasses of wine and they joined the dishes in the sink.  
  
John went to stand to help with the washing.  
  
"We can worry about it later," Sherlock said, "We still have to eat desert."  


  
After desert and tea was over John felt happy. Any reservations he had about dating Sherlock had vanished. They would figure this out; he had no doubt about it.  
  
John offered to clean the dishes since Sherlock had cooked. Sherlock compromised that if John did the dishes, he would pick up the rose petals.  
  
"Cooking, eating and being reasonable about cleaning! Seriously, why didn't we start dating a while ago?" John asked making his way to the sink.  
  
"One is supposed to put on their best behaviour on a date."  
  
"So you're saying I shouldn't get used to it?"  
  
“I cooked because this was a date – a special evening. I ate for the same reason I always eat – it makes you happy. I will pick up the petals in order to preserve them.”

“Preserve them? Isn’t that a little…sentimental…”

“Don’t be foolish. I want to use them in an experiment.”

   
  
John finished the dishes before Sherlock finished picking up all the rose petals. There were quite a lot of them...and Sherlock was taking his time not to crush them.

  
John leaned against the kitchen frame, enjoying the view of a bent over Sherlock.  
  
"I'm going to have a shower. One of us has work in the morning! I really enjoyed our evening, it was lovely."  
  
"Mmh," was all the response he got. He correctly guessed that Sherlock was too deep in thought thinking of all the insane things he could do with the petals to pay attention to what he was saying.  
  
He took one step towards the stairs when he thought _Oh what the hell_.  
  
He smacked Sherlock's arse and ran upstairs giggling.  
  
Sherlock stood straight up looking in the direction where the doctor had been. "Mature!" He shouted.  
  
If John hadn't been too busy running away he would have noticed a large grin on the younger man's face.

 

Sherlock finished putting the petals in separate beakers. He covered the beakers and placed them in the fridge. He would need to conduct his experiment the next day if he wanted to petals to remain fresh.

 

As he walked out of the kitchen he noticed he had missed one. He picked it and went to his bedroom.

 

He pressed the petal inside the pages of his bee-keeping book; the same one John had tripped over the week before.


	12. Texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't thank you enough for the lovely comments left on the last chapter! Yay for fluff bunnies!

John awoke to a shining sun. He felt the morning was as happy as he was.  
  
As he was having his breakfast, he noted that it looked like this was going to be another Sherlockless morning. It's only while he was getting ready for work that Sherlock appeared...out of who knows where.  
  
John jumped. "You need a bell. Like a cat."  
  
Sherlock looked really nervous.  
  
"Sherlock?" John asked.  
  
"John." Sherlock took a step forward.  
  
Oh! He was going to kiss him goodbye. Why did he seem so nervous? He had done it all of last week.

 This was rather different though...now that they were actively attempting to become romantic partners the kiss would have meaning to it.  
  
"Sherlock, have you ever kissed anyone...before me?" John could not help himself, he needed to know!  
  
Sherlock looked horribly offended...or was it just horrified? It was hard to tell since his features kept moving, unsure what to do.  
  
"Of course I have!" That was definitely an offended tone.  
  
Sherlock stomped towards his bedroom.  
  
Fabulous. Guess there would be no goodbye kiss.

 John Hamish Watson. Master of putting his foot in his mouth.

 Maybe he could show Sherlock what else he was good at putting in his mouth...ok, no, not now! Work! He was already running late.

 

~~~~~

 

John [9:32am]

\- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you

 

John [9:32am]

\- I shouldn’t have assumed anything

 

Sherlock [9:34am]

\- You are forgiven. SH

 

John [9:35am]

\- So you’ve kissed a ton of people then?

 

John knew he really shouldn’t be pushing but he just HAD to know.

 

Sherlock [9:36am]

\- Obviously. It is often indispensable while on cases. SH

 

Sherlock [9:36am]

\- People will say anything to impress a potential lover.  SH

 

John frowned at his mobile.

 

John[9:40am]

\- And outside cases?

 

Sherlock [9:40am]

\- Mhairi. Boarding school. We were 13. SH

 

Sherlock [9:40am]

\- She felt very strongly that we should try kissing.  SH

 

John [9:51am]

\- So the only person you kissed for the sake of kissing, outside of a case, was when you were 13????

 

Sherlock [9:51am]

\- Wrong. SH

 

John [9:52am]

\- ????

 

Sherlock [9:52am]

\- I fail to see your need for so many question marks. SH

 

John [9:53am]

\- Aw you hate repetition even through texting!

John [9:53am]

\- Who else have you kissed?

 

Sherlock [9:53am]

\- It is important for you to know this information? SH

 

John [9:54am]

\- Curiosity.

 

John [9:54am]

\- I would tell you to ask me anything as well but you’ve probably already deduced it all.

 

Sherlock [9:55am]

\- Indeed. SH

 

Sherlock [9:55am]

\- To answer your question, after Mhairi and outside of a case, the only other person I have kissed has been you. SH

 

John [10:16am]

\- What else have you done for the sake of a case?

 

John [10:16am]

\- No wait! Don’t answer that.

 

John [10:16am]

\- I’m not sure I want to know. Especially not through text.

 

Sherlock slipped his mobile into his pocket and went back to his rose petals.

 A few moments later it buzzed.

 What could John possibly want to know now? It’s not that he minded, it’s just that he was busy at the moment. Didn’t the man have patients to see?

 

Mycroft [10:30am]

\- Do tell me, brother mine, what good could possibly come of an attempt at developing a relationship with Doctor Watson? MH

 

Sherlock [10:30am]

\- Piss off Mycroft. SH

 

Mycroft [10:31am]

\- Let’s just say the dating is successful. What will you do when he wants to further the development? MH

 

Mycroft [10:31am]

\- When he wants to have sexual relations? MH

 

Sherlock already knew he was ready to try…things…with John.

 

Mycroft [10:32am]

\- What happens if he finds your inexperience less than charming? MH

 

This possibility had not occurred to Sherlock.

 

Mycroft [10:33am]

\- What if he wants to move into your bedroom? It is drearily normal for couples that live together to share the same bed every night. You will no longer have your area of privacy. MH

 

Mycroft [10:34am]

\- Queen forbid he wants children one day! MH

 

Sherlock [10:34am]

\- Piss. Off. SH

 

Mycroft [10:35am]

\- We haven’t even discussed what would happen if things turned sour. If he wanted to move out? MH

 

That would never happen! Sherlock would make sure of it. If ever he felt John was displeased by their liaison he would simply announce it was all for an experiment. John would be cross but things would go back to normal. Sherlock would be able to put his feelings aside for the sake of keeping his John around.

 This was clearly a foolproof plan. Good thing he was such a genius. No one else would be able to come up with such a plan. Mycroft was just being a twat.

 

Sherlock [10:35am]

\- Piss. Off. SH

 

Mycroft [10:35am]

\- Don’t say I didn’t warn you. MH

 

 

~~~~~

 

John showed his patient out and grabbed his phone from his desk drawer. He had heard it vibrate during his examination but ignored it.

 

Unknown [10:35am]

\- Are you interested in having children?

 

What the bloody hell? 

 

John [10:45am]

\- Excuse me, who is this?

 

Unknown [10:45am]

\- Don’t be so obtuse.

 

Mycroft. Had to be.

 

Instead of replying to Mycroft, John texted Sherlock.

 

John [10:46am]

\- Whatever stupid ideas Mycroft is putting in your head, ignore them.

 

Sherlock [10:47am]

\- I usually do. SH

 

John [10:47am]

\- Good.

 

~~~~

 

When John got home, he was greeted by shouting voices coming from their flat.

 When he opened the door, the first thing he noticed was not the two men engaged in a vile argument, but the strings crisscrossing from wall to wall. In order to be threaded, last nights’ rose petals had been carefully pierced. They were almost evenly spaced. The more pressing issue was the substance dripping off some of them…and onto the floor.

 John forced himself to focus on the yelling match. He raised his hands in the air and waved them around to get their attention.

 “John! You’re home. Good. Tell this man he’s being an imbecile.”

 “Me?” The balding stranger yelled out. “This buffoon thinks my wife is cheating on me! I came here for help to find my dog!”

 John rolled his eyes.

“I am not a dog catcher!” Sherlock started yelling again.

 “Well maybe you should be, you definitely deserve to be with dogs!”

 “Oi!” John said this with force and successfully got the attention of both men at once.

 “I’m sorry sir, if Sherlock Holmes thinks you’re wife is cheating on you, she is. Please leave our flat. Now.” John indicated the door.

 The man looked from him to Sherlock and stormed out.

 “Wipe that look off your face,” John told Sherlock while heading to the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

 “What look?” Sherlock feigned innocence while making no attempts at not looking smug.

 John almost walked into one of the strings…which brought his attention back to them.

 Quite a few of them were dripping. The liquid substance seemed to vary. In some instances, John knew, it would stain the floor.

 “Mrs Hudson is going to murder you.”

 “Mmh. I wonder how she’ll do it,” Sherlock fell gracefully onto the sofa.

 

John returned with two cups, placing one in front of Sherlock while manoeuvring around the strings.

 He sat in his chair, sighed and enjoyed the smell of his tea.

 “Good day?” Sherlock asked.

 “Not bad. Mycroft asked me a weird question.”

 “I thought we were ignoring him.”

 “Yes, good point. Sherlock…do you mind if I…try an experiment?”

 Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

 “Sit up,” John asked.

 Sherlock sat up on the sofa. John put his cup down and walked over to him.

 He straddled the detective and thanked his lucky star for still being able to do such a thing gracefully.

 “You can put your hands on my hips,” John suggested. “If you want, of course.”

 Sherlock did so, feeling the muscle and bone under the fabric of John’s trousers. He knew that if he looked at himself in the mirror at this precise moment, his pupils must have been blown.

 “Right…ok…close your eyes,” John asked, mostly for his own ease. He couldn’t do this with those eyes piercing through his soul.

 John slowly leaned forward until their lips slotted together like a perfect puzzle.

 Sherlock’s grip tightened on John’s hips.

 John ran his tongue across Sherlock’s lips, causing them to open in a small gasp. John took this as an invitation to explore some more.

 As he deepened the kiss, his right hand came to cup Sherlock’s face. It made its way to the back of the man’s head. He tangled his finger in the curly hair, applying a very small amount of pressure.

 Sherlock’s hands moved upwards, onto John’s jumper. His body arched towards the doctor.

 John released Sherlock’s hair and slowly backed out of the kiss, smiling.

 Sherlock looked bewildered.

 John got up and returned to his chair.

 He grabbed his cup and took a glance towards Sherlock who now looked a little worried.

 “What’s wrong? I thought that was quite nice.” He really did. He only broke the kiss because he felt a certain part of him wake up and he didn’t want to ruin the moment. There would be plenty of time for those kinds of experiments in the future.

 “John we need to do that again,” there was urgency in Sherlock’s voice, “I need to place it in my mind palace! I forgot to catalogue the experience!”

 “I snogged your brain off!” John beamed .

 "That is physically impossible."

 "It's a saying!"

 "It makes no sense."

 "Well at least we know your brain is back on."

 "It was never off!"

 Sherlock's mobile buzzed.

 "Lestrade needs us," he said getting up. "I beg you not to mention him and Mycroft. I do not need to hear about how their date went."

 "I'm sorry, what?" John asked getting up as well.

 "Mycroft asked Lestrade out. They went on a date. I've told you this."

 "No, you most certainly did not!"

 "Ah." Sherlock put his coat on.

 "When did this happen?"

 "While we were in Cardiff. They had their date the night before ours. Of course, my brother just couldn't let himself be outdone by me in any area," Sherlock said, clearly annoyed.

 "Are you saying Greg is a better catch than I am?" John asked, teasingly.

 "John. Please." Sherlock wasn't going to bother answering such a ridiculous question.

 

 ~~~~

 

At the crime scene, Sherlock went straight for the body while John stood beside Lestrade.

 "I won't poke fun of your choice of Holmes if you don't poke fun of mine," said the DI.

 John nodded.

 "Maybe we could double date?" Lestrade asked.

 "Two Holmes in one room? Holmes? Holmeses?" John questioned.

 Greg chuckled.

 "Yeah you're right...probably not my best idea."

 "Maybe after we tame them a bit first," John said giggling as well.

 "Yes, it would be best not to have two wild Holmeses in public together."

 They attempted to giggle quietly.

Donovan walked up to them: "Sir, if you don't mind me saying, I think you've been spending a bit too much time with these two. Giggling at a crime scene?"

 "Bit not good," John said trying not to laugh out loud.

 "If you don't mind me saying, sod off!" Lestrade responded, which caused John to cover his mouth with his hand in order to muffle himself.

 Sherlock got up from his crouched position and walked over to them.

"If you two teenagers are done gossiping, I need the help of my doctor," he said, irritated.

"Your doctor indeed!" Lestrade replied with a very inappropriate grin and wiggling his eyebrows. They were at a crime scene! Maybe Donovan was right, the duos’ bad behaviour was rubbing off on him.

 Donovan looked back and forth between John and Sherlock before exclaiming: "Nooooo!"

 John blushed and walked towards the body.

 

 

 

 

  

 


	13. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!! WARNING !!!  
>  This chapter contains mentions of dubcon as well as drug use.  
> The section of this chapter which contains such mentions will be clearly marked by a pile of stars. If these are triggers to you, please skip the section, or the chapter all together. I will provide a quick, trigger-free, summary of the chapter in the end notes. I will also make this a short chapter so anyone who chooses to skip it won't be missing much.  
> !!! End of WARNING!!!

That had been boring. Obvious really. Honestly, why couldn't criminals be more original!

 Sherlock removed his coat and took a look at his petals.

 John went into the kitchen, placed the bags of take-away they had gotten on the table and grabbed a couple of plates.

 "What's the point of this experiment anyways? Apart from testing Mrs. Hudson's patience?" he asked.

 "There are a few cold cases with disintegrated bodies that I need to solve. Each involves a mixture of chemicals used in an attempt to break up the body. All poorly done really, the victims were identified but there were no relations between any of them. They only thing linking them is that they all had a rose bush in front of their home. The murderer's vanity caused him to need to leave some form of signature. I do hate it when they make it easy."

 "If it's so easy, why is it a cold case?" John asked, ducking under a string to get to his chair. He placed a plate near Sherlock and sat down with his own.

 "Cleary because Scotland Yard is trying to reach a new low."

"Right, and this?" John waved his fork at the room.

 "The killer's signature was to leave a few drops of the mixture he used on his victim on one of the roses. If I can determine exactly what chemicals were used by identifying their reaction with the foliage, I can solve the murder."

"Couldn't you just go down to the lab and analyse it?"

 "Cold case, John. Scotland Yard's cold case. They were to dull-witted to preserve any of the chemicals. They washed the bodies off without even thinking! Lestrade spewed some excuse about family members wanting to bury their loved ones or something of the sort. This was before Molly's time. Even she would have been smart enough to analyze the substance. The coroner on that case was fired. Most likely for gross incompetence, at least one can only hope."

 "Eat an eggroll!" John ordered, pointing to Sherlock's plate.

Sherlock looked at it, surprised of its existence. He took the plate and sat on the sofa.

 

"Would you like to go on a date tomorrow?" Sherlock asked, poking at his eggroll.

 John looked at Sherlock, surprised of the existence of such a question coming from that mouth. Mmm that mouth...he really needed to kiss it again.

 "Uh, sure. Anything in mind?"

 "I thought we could go on one of the ludicrous London ghost tours," Sherlock said, stabbing his eggroll.

 "No! You want to go on the tour so you can make fun of it and point out all the ways in which the tour guide is wrong! We are not ruining innocent fun for the tourists."

 "Innocent! John, it would be a great public service. These tourists are becoming dumber by the minute. We must help them!"

 "No. I've been on a tour like that, they're fun! We're not ruining it for others. And they do contain historical facts, you know."

 "Hmph. Historical facts tainted by foolishness."

 "I have the day off again tomorrow, it's supposed to be nice out. How bout we go to the park?"

 Sherlock gave John a look of distaste while chewing on his eggroll.

 "No interest in deducing the life of ducks huh? It's taking you way too long to eat that eggroll! Don't think for a second that I'm fooled by your attempts at looking like you're eating a lot when you're really just moving things around your plate."

 John ate more from his plate while intensely staring at Sherlock, daring him not to eat. Sherlock bit off a piece of his eggroll and chewed it very slowly, staring back defiantly.

 "Hm I'm assuming you memorised the outline of the ghost tour map?" John asked.

 Sherlock nodded his affirmation.

 "How bout we go out tomorrow afternoon. You can take me around the route the tour takes and point all the flaws out to me."

 "You...would enjoy that?" Sherlock asked, looking unsure.

 "You know I always enjoy you showing off that massive intellect of yours," John replied in honesty.

 Sherlock beamed at the idea.

 

~~~~~

 

After an hour of walking around listening to Sherlock enthusiastically explaining how the haunted locations were not actually haunted, John spotted a sweets shop and felt it was the perfect day for ice cream.

 They were now sat on a bench in a lovely park.

 John mentioned nothing about the fact that they had actually ventured into a park, which even contained ducks.

 Sherlock ate the flake off his 99 and licked his fingers. He then proceeded to open his mouth wide and insert the entire ice cream portion in his mouth. He gently pressed his lips on it and dragged the ice cream out, removing only a small layer and smoothing out the twisted waves of the soft icy treat.

 John stared at him. That was the most absurd way of eating a 99. There was no way Sherlock did not know what he was doing! He had to be taking the piss or something...maybe he was still trying to coax John into the bedroom...or maybe he really didn't know that that was an extremely suggestive way of eating ice cream.

 John was too busy staring at the cone in Sherlock's hand to notice the man staring back at him.

 "What?" the deep voice asked.

 John snapped back to reality: "Nothing! That's uh...nothing. Enjoying the ice cream?"

 "Mmm," Sherlock replied, twisting his tongue around said ice cream.

 "Ok, seriously!" the doctor exclaimed.

 "Yours is melting," Sherlock pointed out.

 "Right. Right," John returned to his own treat, feeling rather self conscious about his very normal way of consuming it. Should he be doing evocative motions with his tongue as well? Was this some weird foreplay? Couldn't be...Sherlock had mentioned his inexperience. He couldn't be doing this on purpose...

   
 ****************************************************************************************************

*************Dub!con starts here. Go to after the next batch of stars if you want to skip it.*************  ***************************************************************************************************

 

Something Sherlock has said during yesterday’s texting flashed in John's mind - _People will say anything to impress a potential lover_.

 John knew it was probably not the best idea to ask what he needed to ask in public...but at the same time there was something about the open area and the lack of room Sherlock could go hide in that pushed John on.

 "Can I ask you something personal?" he tentatively asked.

 "My research indicates acquiring personal information from a partner is an important step in deepening the relationship."

 "Was that a yes?"

 "Yes."

 "Are you sure...you can say no, it's fine."

 "John." Sherlock took a bite of his cone, not entertaining the idea of repeating himself.

 "Right. Ok. So," John licked his ice cream, stalling. "You mentioned that people would say anything to impress a potential lover...aside from kissing...have you done anything else to get information?"

 Refusing to be a coward, John forced himself to look at Sherlock.

 "Yes."

 John was not going to push but Sherlock continued regardless: "I have performed certain acts...on others...for both information as well as drugs."

 Sherlock's voice was flat, he said this as if it didn't matter at all. However, John knew Sherlock. John knew that when Sherlock took such a neutral tone it was because he was hiding his emotions. Sherlock was never one to show weakness.

 "You missed a part of my life that was quite...dark, as some would say," Sherlock continued, seeing the concern on John's face.

 "Do you ever think of going back to drugs?"

 "I used to...until you came along. You make my life much less boring..." Sherlock looked at his now empty hands.

 John slotted his hands into one of them and smiled softly at his detective.

 

*******************************End of dub!con. Safe now.***********************************

*********************************************************************************************

 

"So have you ever received a blowjob?" John asked, cheekily.

 Sherlock blushed...and what a blush it was. The red tint appearing on that pale skin made John smile fondly. Good lord, was he already falling in love with his flatmate? This had only been their second date! ...had he already been in love with the man?

 "You will be the first," Sherlock answered. "Providing it gets to a point that you will want to perform such an act on me." Sherlock looked at the ground, mentally cursing his body for being ableto blush.

 "Oh, I will definitely want to!" John answered, getting up. "Let's go home."

 Hand in hand, they walked out of the park. When they got to the street, a black car rolled up to them and stopped. A tainted window rolled down.

 "Piss off Mycroft!" they shouted in unison, not even slowing their walk down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I lost the fluff bunnies...not sure what happened to them, I'll try to find them again for the next chapter.
> 
> Chapter summary: Sherlock and John go on a second date. They walk around a ghost tour route and Sherlock points out the flaws in the haunted theories. They then get ice cream. The end.


	14. Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter...I'm heading out of town for a few days so I wanted to get something up before leaving. I'm going to try writing on the train so I have something to post once I'm back!

After what had turned out to be a lovely day, Sherlock closed the door behind him. He turned to address John but all that came out was a muffled gasp of surprise as the doctor pinned him against the door and pressed his lips against those of his partner.

Sherlock’s surprise vanished nearly as quickly as it had appeared. What started out as a soft, exploratory kiss quickly became more. Sherlock found the feeling of warmth emitting from his doctor’s body against him exhilarating!

Copying what John had previously done to him, Sherlock teased the bloggers lips with his tongue making the latter separate them.

John's tongue eagerly met Sherlock's. The detective wrapped an arm around John's waist as one hand reached for the back of the man's head, pulling him even closer.

The added closeness between the two caused John to emit a moan that was barely audible. He let go of Sherlock’s lapels in order to wrap his arms around the taller man’s slender waist, under the still worn coat.

His hands made their way down Sherlock’s back, over his hips and onto his firm ass. He pulled the detective’s waist closer and immediately felt Sherlock’s excitement as his now rock hard cock felt Sherlock's own erection rub against him through their trousers.

Sherlock broke off the frenzied kiss long enough to draw a proper breath before plunging his tongue back into the doctors’ mouth. The frenetic pace of the current make-out session was causing Sherlock’s cock to rub between him and John with his trousers providing heat and his soft pants giving him added friction.

John's prick twitched with excitement against Sherlock's. This caused the detective to release a high pitched but soft toned moan.

John delighted over the sound coming from his partner...boyfriend...lover?

Despite the layers of fabric, Sherlock felt the pressure of John’s swollen member touch his inner thigh. Without even a thought, he flipped their positions so John was now pinned against the wall. He used his height advantage to raise John from the floor, creating the perfect angle for their members to meet.

John shamelessly wrapped one leg around Sherlock to help the man support his weight. 

As the two carried on their breakneck paced session, Sherlock began rocking his hips.

The sensation was made even better by John’s hands running up and down his body, grasping at his shirt under the man's trench coat.

Pinned against the wall and surrounded by the great coat, John abandoned himself to his desire for Sherlock. His mad grasping at any piece of Sherlock he could get a hold of was inelegant  and needy. He wanted Sherlock closer, needed to feel him. He was too wrapped up to even think of how much easier this would be if they removed a couple of layers of clothing.  

 Through their trousers, John and Sherlock’s cocks pushed against each other. They got into a position that easily allowed both men to thrust and enjoy increased warmth and friction.

They mindlessly timed their movements opposite to one another. While Sherlock would push his cock forward, he leaned towards John, allowing him to continue kissing him.

The newly added hip movements made John gasp for air. His breathing, heavy. His heart, racing. His cock, throbbing.

He needed more. So much more.

Sherlock had never felt such a need.

The kissing, the movements, the arousal...they all had Sherlock lost in the enjoyment of his mate. It was as if the whole world had stopped during this moment just so he could...could...feel...love? Lust? Who knew. He was too preoccupied to analyse what was happening.

John felt Sherlock’s body tense up as the slender man tried to contain himself. The blogger continued kissing him and rubbing his groin against Sherlock’s. Moments later, John felt Sherlock’s body shake with excitement.

Sherlock had- half heartedly- tried to contain himself but was rather pleased he could not. From the tip of his cock came multiple spurts of cum which clung to the fabric of his trousers in a welcoming warm wetness.

 In sheer ecstasy, Sherlock, still panting, broke off the kiss with John and placed his head on John’s shoulder, where he gave the doctor a tender kiss on the neck.

Feeling Sherlock's reaction against him and seeing the detective’s pupils fully dilated pushed John over the edge. The first spurt of cum squirted out of his pants and was only contained by the belt he was wearing while the second traced a vertical line in his pants.

Both men instantly felt numb and fell to the floor.

 

John leaned against the wall. Sherlock rearranged himself to come sit beside him, his coat haphazardly clumped around him.

"Holy. Fuck." John breathed out. "What just happened?" He raised a hand to stop Sherlock from actually explaining to him what had happened. "What I meant was, I'm not a teenager anymore...I haven't felt that in...I don't even know." John's eyes were wide as he tried to regain his breath.

"That was...pleasant," Sherlock provided. "And sticky." He looked down at himself.

 "Yeah. We need a shower."

"It is not uncommon for partners to shower together after a sexual experience," Sherlock said.

"You - you want to shower together?" Apparently it was possible for John's eyes to open even wider.

 "You do not want to?"

"No, no I want to...it's just that...showering means seeing you naked..." John did not make eye contact.

 Sherlock cocked his head to one side in an attempt to figure out what John was getting at.

"You do not want to see me naked?"

"Oh, I definitely want to see you naked!" John reassured him. "It's just that we've only been on two dates and that-" John lazily waved at where they had just been standing, "that was unexpected - and pleasant! Don't get me wrong, I most certainly enjoyed that!" John nodded his head as if to mark his point.

"You feel we are moving too quickly even though you have noted that we have never been ones to do things the normal way." Sherlock stood and hung his coat up.

He was having problems understanding what John wanted exactly. John had exhibited multiple signs of wanting to get closer to him but he was also resisting certain aspects of what should mark a developing relationship.

Sherlock needed to think. Needed to analyse. Needed to understand.

He needed to be alone.

He needed a shower. He could feel his pants stick to him. He didn't feel any shame about what had just occurred. He had felt wanted, in all the right ways. He wished John would join him the shower in order to prolong the feeling but John did not appear to be moving from his spot on the floor.

Sherlock walked towards his bathroom and entered it, closing the door behind him.

John, who was still sitting on the floor, banged his head against the wall.

"Seriously! What is wrong with me!" he, once again, asked the empty room. Feeling silly about talking to himself, he looked at the skull. "So? What the hell is stopping me from following the Greek god into the shower?"

He winced. Since when had talking to the skull become a more reasonable option than talking to an empty room?

John got up and walked up the stairs towards his own shower.

           


	15. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Minor drug use discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting patiently!

Gregory Lestrade had been enjoying a nice cuppa after a long days work when a knock at the door snapped him out of his mindless staring into space.  
  
Who could it be at such an hour?  
  
When he opened his door, he found himself face to face with the man he had just started dating.  
  
"Mycroft? Is everything ok?" Lestrade peeked around Mycroft and didn't see anyone else...he wasn't really sure who else he was expecting but Mycroft showing up like this was not something that had happened before.  
  
"May I come in?"  
  
Images of Lestrade’s rather humble and not very well organized flat flashed in the DIs mind. He had been to Mycroft's flat and the pristine, modern and all around posh home was exactly what he had expected. He wasn't sure what Mycroft expected of his home but he figured it wouldn't be polite to refuse the man entry.  
  
He stepped aside to let him in.  
  
Gregory rushed to the living room and tried pushing a few things around to make it appear cleaner than it really was.  
  
"Organized chaos," Mycroft said with a fond smile. "Please, don't feel the need to rearrange things for me."  
  
"I was just enjoying some tea, would you like a cup?"  
  
"Do you have any loose leaf?"  
  
"Uh..no."  
  
"Ah. Whatever you’re having will be fine, I'm sure."  
  
Lestrade disappeared in the direction of his kitchen.  
  
"How was your day?" Mycroft asked from the living room. He found a spot on the couch he felt was reasonably safe and had a seat.  
  
"Long...ton of paper. You know how it is."  
  
Gregory reappeared and handed a cup to Mycroft.  
  
"Although I have the feeling you're the type to enjoy paperwork," Greg added, sitting down in the love chair opposite Mycroft.  
  
"It's just so much cleaner than running around after bad guys." Mycroft discretely took a sniff of the tea and tried a sip. Oh dear...he would need to introduce Gregory to the joys of proper quality tea. He forced himself to take another. If he could handle negotiations with diplomats he could handle this...tea...  
  
Gregory laughed. "You hate it! You don't have to drink it, I really don't mind."  
  
"My dear brother does sell your detective skills short...I thought I was feigning my enjoyment of your tea quite nicely.  
  
"Can I have that in writing? It would be nice to show him that the British Government respects my skill next time he insults me."  
  
"I'm not sure that would help your cause," Mycroft said. He accidentally took another sip of the tea, out of habit of having the cup in his hands. He looked for a spot to put it down but found the coffee table covered in papers.  
  
"Just put it over there," Lestrade indicated a folder near the far right corner of the small table. "Copy of the divorce papers. Not important."  
  
"On the contrary, I feel those papers are of the utmost importance."  
  
Lestrade wasn’t quite sure what to respond to that. Mycroft asking him out had come as a surprise - it didn't help that they had been in the middle of an argument and Mycroft had practically shouted the question at him. Lestrade had shouted a firm 'yes' back and they ended up staring silently at each other, neither quite sure how they had gone from arguing over something (Greg couldn't even remember what) to agreeing to go on a date with each other.  
  
"So...not that I don't enjoy the surprise of your visit but...why are you here?"  
  
"We need to talk," Mycroft said as he placed his cup on top of what appeared to be a fiction novel.  
  
"I'm going to guess that you don't know the usual implications of those four words," Lestrade kept calm. They had only been on a couple of dates and in his opinion they had gone quite well.  
  
"Have you spoken to John about his -  relationship - with Sherlock?"  
  
"Not really, it's been a busy week. He did seem happy about it. Why? Did something happen?"  
  
"Nothing yet but you know how my brother is. Neither seems open to discussing the implications of their decision with me."  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way but maybe it's because it's none of your business." Lestrade took a sip of his cooling tea. He liked his tea!  
  
"How is it none of my business? If Sherlock messes this up John will leave and I will be left to damage control the situation."  
  
"Good thing damage controlling is something you're good at!" Lestrade tried to lighten the mood but it didn't seem to work. "Why can't you be optimistic about this? They're good for each other.”  
  
"I'm not saying they aren't. My brother is not exactly experienced in the field of romance."  
  
"I recall you saying you've only had one partner before. You don't see me worrying that you'll do something wrong."  
  
Mycroft frowned. "Sherlock and John are very...quick with their emotional reactions."  
  
Lestrade snorted. "They'll figure it out but you have to let them figure it out. Stop trying to meddle."  
  
They sat in pleasant silence for a bit until Mycroft asked: "What happens if I do?"  
  
"If you meddle?"  
  
"No...if I get something wrong...with you."  
  
Lestrade shrugged, "I'll throw something at you and tell you to stop being an arse."  
  
Mycroft smiled. He had no doubt the DI would do just that.  
  
Lestrade put his empty cup down. "So does this count as our third date?" He leaned forward towards Mycroft. "You know what they say happens after the third date." He gave the man in front of him a cheeky smile.  
  
Mycroft blushed deeply.  
  
Lestrade stood up. Not knowing what else to do Mycroft did as well, strangely thankful for the barrier that was the table.  
  
"If you're going to date me, I do expect to be properly snogged."  
  
The DI stepped around the table.  
  
Finding his wits again, Mycroft made the first move. He cupped Gregory's face and brought their lips together.  
  
Greg's hands flew to each side of Mycroft's waist and very quickly moved upwards to rid the man of his blazer.  
  
"You are wearing way too many layers! Don't get me wrong, you look hot in your three piece suits but I need to get to some skin."  
  
He started to unbutton Mycroft's vest and felt him wiggle a bit.  
  
"Nope! You're not allowed to be self-conscious, not with me!"  
  
"It would help if you also lost a layer."  
  
Gregory gladly fulfilled Mycroft's request and took his shirt off.  
  
He slammed their lips back together as he continued unbuttoning the layers locking his boyfriend's skin away.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It had been two days since John had refused to shower with Sherlock. He spent his spare time at the surgery trying to think of ways to make this up to Sherlock. The flatmate had yet to leave his room, at least not when John was around.  
  
When he got home, he walked over to Sherlock's closed door and knocked. There was no answer.  
  
"I thought of something for us to do on our next date," he announced. Still no answer.  
  
He walked back to the living room and grabbed his laptop. He had been so busy these last few days he hadn't had the chance to write on his blog about the elephant.  
  
Some moments later, he felt his mobile buzz.  
  
Lestrade [7:17pm]  
\- Join me for a pint?  
  
~~  
  
John found Lestrade sitting in a corner booth, beer in hand. He got himself one from the bar and joined his friend.  
  
"Alright, let's get to the question on everyone's mind," the DI said as John sat down. "Which brother has the biggest cock? How big would you say Sherlock is when fully erect?"  
  
John tried not to choke on his beer.  
  
"Holy - how many pints have you had mate? And who's everyone!"  
  
"You're not answering the question! Mycroft is about..." Lestrade started to illustrate the size of Mycroft's prick using his index fingers but John covered his eyes with his hands.  
  
"I don't want to know!"  
  
"Well what fun are you!" Lestrade chuckled.  
  
"Nice hickey by the way," John took a sip of his beer.  
  
"Ta. I think My wants Sherlock to see it."  
  
"Well it's hard to miss...My?"  
  
"Yeah...dunno where it came from but it works. What's your nickname for Sherlock?"  
  
"I...I don't have one."  
  
"You should call him Sherley!"  
  
"Ha! No. Seriously how many have you had?"  
  
"This is my first one," Greg indicated his glass. "I'm just in a good mood and it's fun winding you up."  
  
"Thanks. So things are going well with Mycroft?"  
  
"Yup. The man is nimble!"  
  
John made a face.  
  
"Haha, ok, ok, I'll stop," Greg promised. "But you have to admit it would be fun to compare their skills."  
  
"I...uh...wouldn't have much to contribute to the conversation." John looked at his beer.  
  
"Wait seriously? Oh man, after years of pining for the mad bastard I was sure you were going to dive right into it."  
  
"I was not pining! I want to take it slow...do things right."  
  
"So you'll wait til he's your husband?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Not that slow! I just don't want to scare him off."  
  
"He's a grown man!"  
  
"You know what I mean," John drank from his glass.  
  
"So how's taking it slow going?" Lestrade finished his pint.  
  
"Not good. I keep messing up. I want to go slow but he doesn't seem to understand that. He's fully invested and committed to jumping into this head on."  
  
"I'm going to go get us a couple more pints. When I get back, you better have a damn good reason as to why that's a bad thing." Lestrade got up and headed to the bar.  
  
"So?" He asked as he gave John a new pint. John quickly finished the beer left in his original glass and grabbed the offering.  
  
"Ta." John sighed. "I guess I still don't really believe this is happening. Sherlock Holmes is...mine. I know that but there's this stupid voice in the back of my head that's telling me to be careful...I might just be the distraction of the month...he might get bored...he might leave." There. He had said it. Had voiced his insecurities.  
  
John looked defeated.  
  
"You got it bad, huh. You know, it's not recommended to listen to the voices. That man won't get bored of you. He won't leave you."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"Because he died, remember." They didn't talk about that time but Greg felt if ever there was a moment to bring it up, this was it. "He died and was gone for two years. Fighting his way through a ring of criminals. He could have easily stayed dead and gone once his mission was over. He came back. John. He came back for you. Now that he has you, I think we're never gonna be rid of him!"  
  
John thought about it. Lestrade was right...he was being ridiculous thinking Sherlock would leave again.  
  
"Why the bloody hell am I surrounded by so many pessimists!" Lestrade added, taking a sip of his beer.  
  
  
~~~  
  
John got home and waddled to Sherlock's door. He knocked. No answer.  
  
"Stop being stupid! I'm not leaving this position until you leave your bedroom!"  
  
John, very slowly, sat himself in front of Sherlock’s door.  
  
He eventually passed out.  
  
  
~  
  
Sherlock came home and tossed his soiled coat on the sofa.  
  
When he reached his bedroom door, he found John sleeping in front of it.  
  
"John?"  
  
The voice woke John who cursed Lestrade for letting him drink so much.  
  
John took a look at Sherlock and noticed the man had a cut near his eye and on his lip. "Sherlock! What happened?" John quickly got to his feet.  
  
Upon further inspection he saw that the cuts were not cuts at all. They appeared to be mild chemical burns.  
  
Along with the burns, John noticed Sherlock was absolutely covered in dirt.  
  
"Explain!"  
  
"The rose murderer. I had a lead. Turned out I was right."  
  
"Shit! What chemical did he get on you?"  
  
"No need to panic! The mixture missed me. These were caused by drops from the splash when the substance hit the wall."  
  
"It got in your mouth!"  
  
"Don't be foolish, it only touched my lip. I did not ingest any of the liquid. It's all fine."  
  
"NO! It is not all fine! Why are you covered in dirt?"  
  
"I had to go through a very tight crawl space to get away."  
  
"Jesus!" John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shower! Now!"  
  
Sherlock turned around and walked into his bathroom. John entered behind him.  
  
"Undress and get into the shower," the doctor ordered.  
  
"John?"  
  
"I need to make sure there's no other burns or any cuts from your crawling around."  
  
John grabbed a flannel and ran it under the tap. He lightly brushed the two areas on Sherlock's face to make sure there really were no chemicals left.  
  
"Naked and in the shower! Now!"  
  
Sherlock didn't move.  
  
"We don't have time for your stubbornness!"  
  
To set the example, John stripped himself and hopped in the shower.  
  
He turned around to face Sherlock. "Come on!"  
  
Sherlock slowly took his clothes off, dirt falling everywhere.  
  
"Your knees!" John exclaimed once Sherlock's trousers were off. They were heavily scraped and dirt appeared mixed in with the dried blood.  
  
"Minor surface wounds."  
  
"Let me be the doctor! Come on, pants off! We need to wash the dirt out of your wounds."  
  
Sherlock did as instructed and stood in the shower beside John.  
  
"Alright, turn around before we turn on the water. I need to make sure there are no other burns."  
  
Sherlock turned around silently. John held his breath. There were no other burns, only pale skin stretched over fine muscles.  
  
Not thinking, John reached out and gently ran his index finger down Sherlock's spine. The detective shivered.  
  
"You’re too skinny," John all but whispered.  
  
"May I turn the water on now?" Sherlock asked.  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
John let the water fall down Sherlock for a bit. Dazzled by the rolling motion of the drops on the man's skin.  
  
He eventually remembered why they were where they were and snapped back to his sense of urgency.  
  
"Ok turn around again, I need to see your knees."  
  
Sherlock turned around and John dropped to his own knees.  
  
If he had looked up, he would have seen a wide-eyed Sherlock staring at him.  
  
Sherlock had to concentrate very hard in order to not get an erection. John was being a doctor, a professional. This was not the time.  
  
With a different flannel, John cleaned Sherlock's knees. They were just surface scrapes but it didn't make John any less pissed at Sherlock.  
  
Once he was pleased with his inspection he stood back up.  
  
"How many times do we have to argue about you running off into danger without me! Something could have happened! You might have died! I can't lose you Sherlock! You need to promise me you won't go off alone anymore. We're in this together, remember?"  
  
"But then something might happen to you."  
  
"Yes, but we'll be together. I can't have you come home injured. I didn't even know you had left!"  
  
"My coat was gone, it was quite obvious."  
  
"No! No arguing on this. You are accepting my terms or else!"  
  
Sherlock wanted to ask 'or else what?' but he was too afraid of the answer so he nodded his agreement.  
  
"Good."  
  
They were left standing awkwardly in the shower, facing each other.  
  
The water was hitting Sherlock's back and the taller man could tell by the goosebumps appearing on John's skin that his doctor was getting cold.  
  
Sherlock shifted so the water hit John. John hadn't seen it coming and let out a very manly screech.  
  
"Oh! You berk!"  
  
"You were getting cold!"  
  
John smacked the stream of water getting it to splash on Sherlock's face.  
  
Sherlock shifted again in order to make the water hit John's ear.  
  
A small water war emerged, both men giggling as they flicked drops at each other.  
  
This war abruptly stopped when John slipped.  
  
Sherlock expertly caught him before John hit his head on the wall.  
  
They were inches apart. Sherlock kept his hand on John's back.

Sherlock leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on John's lips while making sure their bodies didn't touch.  
  
He backed away and turned around to grab the shampoo.  
  
"Not sure why you insist on being brought to dangerous situations when you can't even handle standing in the shower!" Sherlock lathered up his hair.  
  
From behind him, he heard John giggle so he turned around.  
  
"What?" He asked, releasing his hair.  
  
"Your hair is ridiculous!"  
  
"It is not!"  
  
"It's as mad as you are."  
  
Sherlock was going to reply but John was raising his hands towards his hair and the next thing he knew, his John was rubbing his fingers against Sherlock's scalp, massaging the frothy white mass of bubbles around the dark hair.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling.  
  
John gently released his fingers and rinsed his hands in the flow of water behind Sherlock’s head. He kissed Sherlock's cheek and backed up, letting the man arch backwards to rinse off.  
  
John did not waste the opportunity to get a good look at his boyfriend's body. His eyes made their way lower to rest on the promised land.   
  
The promised land? John shook his head at the lunacy of his thoughts.  
  
Re-emerging from the water flow, Sherlock took a glance at his own knees. He wouldn't admit it but the suds that had trickled down his body had stung.  
  
"You should be ok without bandages, good to let it air," John said. "Go lie down. Put a pillow under your knees."  
  
"It's not that bad!" Sherlock turned the water off. He stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He threw a towel to John and grabbed a third to towel off his hair.

John dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up his clothes. "I'm going to go put my pyjamas on and grab some ointment. I'll meet you in your room."  
  
He disappeared out of the shower.  
  
Sherlock walked to his bedroom. He opened a drawer and grabbed a pair of clear blue pants. He slipped them on, being careful not to have the fabric drag on his knees.  
  
He then laid on his back, in the middle of the bed and mentally refused to put a pillow under his knees. It really wasn't that bad and did not require elevation.  
  
John appeared carrying a pair of latex gloves, gauze and some ointment.  
  
He sat at the edge of the bed near Sherlock's feet and put on his gloves.  
  
"Do you own any pants that aren't silk?" He questioned, snapping the second glove on.  
  
"Why would I? This material is nice and smooth."  
  
John wasn't going to argue. He dabbed Sherlock's knees with the gauze to collect any blood. He placed a glob of ointment on his fingers and started applying it to the first knee.  
  
As he was doing the second, Sherlock commented: "There really was no need for the gloves."  
  
Joh froze. "I...uh..." He hadn't meant it to offend.  
  
"Especially since you've already been in contact with my blood in the shower."  
  
"It's a force of habit...being a doctor and all..."  
  
"I can provide you with medical documents clearing me of any diseases"  
  
John frowned as he returned to finish the last knee.  
  
"Mycroft had me tested for...everything...after my last encounter with drugs," Sherlock provided.  
  
John finished applying the ointment and took his gloves. Not knowing what to do with them, he bunched them up.  
  
"There's a bin in the corner," Sherlock pointed to the bin.  
  
John got up and chucked the gloves away. He returned to the edge of bed and bent over to pick up the tube of ointment and placed the cap back on.  
  
Sherlock scooted over to one side. John sat back down, still at the edge of the bed.  
  
"You are being unnaturally quiet," Sherlock said to fill the silence. "I did not take your use of gloves as an offense. I simply felt that, as a doctor, you would be interested in my medical history."  
  
John looked at Sherlock and gave him half a smile.  
  
"You must have been in a really bad state if Mycroft felt the need to have you tested," John finally said.  
  
"It's over now."  
  
"Good. That's good."  
  
John took a glance at Sherlock's knees to make sure they hadn't started bleeding again.  
  
"We're going to see Lestradetomorrowand you're telling him everything you've figured out about the cold case and this murderer you decided to meet tonight...the murderer got away right?"  
  
"No, of course he didn't. I killed him. Drenched him in his own chemicals, which is how I got the burns," Sherlock pointed at his face. "Then I dug a grave to throw him in. I had to kneel several times to remove roots and rocks that were in the way which is how I got the scrapes." He pointed at his knees.  
  
"You're bonkers!" John laughed.  
  
"Interesting."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
John's ability to trust Sherlock would never cease to amaze the genius. Even his own brother would have worried that Sherlock may have actually told the truth and murdered the man...but John didn't entertain the idea, not even for a second.  
  
"Well then," John got up. "I suppose we have a long daytomorrow. Best get some rest."  
  
"You could...stay...just in case I end up in a horrible position during my sleep, worsening my injuries. Best to have a doctor on hand."  
  
Sherlock lifted the sheets on the opposite side of the bed, inviting John in.  
  
"Very well." John slid under the sheets. "Um...do you plan on sleeping atop the comforter all night?"  
  
"The ointment is still drying," Sherlock replied.  
  
"Right!"  
  
Sherlock turned off the bed side lamp.  
  
"Good night John."  
  
"Good night Sherlock."  
  
After all the evening's excitement, it did not take long for both to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone one leaving kudos and following. 
> 
> Special thanks to everyone leaving comments, it keeps me going :)


	16. Meow

Sherlock woke up before John. During the night, John had slid closer and was now resting his head on Sherlock's chest. The younger man had no idea how such a position was supposed to be comfortable - bones were no pillow. He very slowly and very carefully pulled himself away from John and got out of bed.  
  
He dressed in silence and left the bedroom. He paused at his bathroom, looking at the mess of dirt...does not require immediate action.  
  
He had promised John that he would no longer run into danger without him.  
  
Scotland Yard was clearly not a dangerous location. Sherlock planned to go speak to Lestrade on his own. He felt it best if John did not learn the details of how the previous evening went. John did not seem to enjoy thoughts of Sherlock in peril. Sparing him the details was a kindness, really...  
  
He entered the living room and looked at his coat. It was a disaster. He needed to drop it off at the cleaners.  
  
He picked it up, paying to attention to the debris falling from it. He carefully folded it, slipped on his shoes and started texting Lestrade as he headed out the door.  
  
The morning was brisk but tolerable.  
  
He effortlessly hailed a cab.  
  
After a stop was made to drop off his coat, Sherlock walked up the steps of Scotland Yard and went directly to Lestrade's office.  
  
He ignored the looks of annoyance and distaste that were sent his way.  
  
He burst into the DI's office without knocking. This caused the older man to spill a bit of his tea.

"Seriously!" He exclaimed trying to wipe it away. "Alright, tell me what you've got."  
"I found the murderers’ - what is on your neck?" Sherlock stared at Lestrade's neck like it was personally offending him...and it was.  
  
  
  
~~~~  
  
John woke up alone. Somehow, this did not surprise him. He was, however, surprised by the note on the bedside table. It indicated that Sherlock had gone to speak to Lestrade and made a point of mentioning that there was no danger involved. It was unlike Sherlock to leave a note but John was not complaining. He found it rather thoughtful.  
  
He got up and headed to his room.  
  
When he saw the state of Sherlock's bathroom he decided it was best to clean it right away.  
  
He went to get the hoover and stopped when he saw the state of the living room.  
  
If he hadn't been able to determine that the massive trail of dirt heading from the sofa to the door wasn't a clue that Sherlock had thrown his coat on the sofa last night, then picked it up and left this morning, he might as well be Anderson.  
  
What unnerved John was not the large trail of dirt - it was the much, much thinner trail that appeared to be going in the opposite direction...almost as if something had crawled out of the coat.  
  
Taking a deep breath, John forgot about hoovering and started searching for the rat.  
  
He followed the trail to a corner of the room. The intruder appeared to be hiding behind Sherlock's violin case. John grabbed the fire poker and quickly removed the case.  
  
He was not greeted by a rat. Instead, he found a small, dirty and clearly malnourished black ball of fur cowering in the corner.  
  
John put the poker down. "Hello there," he said, slowly backing away. "Don't move!"  
  
He ran to his bedroom and found an unused box. When he returned to the corner the cat was gone. "I said don't move!"  
  
John looked around the room. "Please don't spread flees, please!"  
  
Getting a genius idea, he rushed to the fridge. After briefly considering if a cat would eat marmite, he grabbed a meatball from his leftover spaghetti. He tipped the box on its side and placed the meat offering inside of it.  
  
"Here, kitty, kitty."  
  
The cat appeared and gave John a suspicious look before slowly walking over to the box. Once he was inside the box, enjoying his treat, John swiftly tipped it right side. Before John could celebrate his victory, the cat made an attempt at getting out of the box. Panicking, John chaotically closed the flaps. Holding them in place, he looked around for something, anything, to keep them closed. He spotted Sherlock's laptop. Pleased that it was in reach, he grabbed it and positioned it on top of the box. He cautiously let go.  
  
The cat wiggling inside indicated that the laptop would not be heavy enough. He placed a large book on top of it, then another for good measure.  
  
He walked to the kitchen to turn on the kettle.  
  
The sound of something hitting the ground brought the blogger back to the living room. Expecting the cat to have escaped, John was quite surprised to find himself staring at a man entering their flat through the window. The man was wearing oversized clothes and several scars were noticeable on his skin.  
  
They looked at each other. The box jerked, causing the intruder to look at it. The only warning John got was a crazed look settling on the strangers face. Next thing he knew, the man was charging towards him.  
  
~~  
  
While pacing back and forth in Lestrade's office, Sherlock's phone rang.  
  
"Yes Mrs Hudson?" He answered.  
  
He quickly ended the call.  
  
"We need to go! Baker street! John! Bring your gun," he instructed, flying out of Lestrade's office. Lestrade grabbed his coat and ran after him, ordering Donovan to send someone to Baker street.

 

  
When they got to the flat, officers were already on scene. Sherlock rushed up the stairs and found John holding a cloth to his eye and talking to one of them.  
  
"We'll have matching bruises!" Sherlock announced, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
It didn't work. John was not amused.  
  
"Sherlock. Why did a man break into our flat to get a cat? And why was the cat here to start with?"  
  
Lestrade thanked the officers and told them they could go.  
  
"Cat?" He asked, looking from John to Sherlock.  
  
"The murderer I was telling you about had a cat," Sherlock explained.  
  
"You brought a murderers’ cat home!" exclaimed John.  
  
Lestrade took a step back. This was going to be interesting.  
  
"Yes. The cat appeared important to him. I took it to make sure he didn't go off grid and disappear."  
  
"Why would a murderer have a cat? You were just telling me he's a psychopath. Why would a psychopath care about a cat?" asked the DI.  
  
John gave Sherlock a pointed look.  
  
"I'm not a psychopath!" Sherlock replied to the look. "And I don't own a cat!"

 "You," John pointed to Sherlock, "came up with that link all on your own! I wasn't even thinking that!"

 "I was." Lestrade admitted. "I can easily see you with a cat. Sitting in a chair, petting it maliciously."

 "How does one pet a cat maliciously?" asked Sherlock.  
  
"Can we go back to Lestrade's question....please. Why did he have a cat?"  
  
"The murderer is a recluse and has no interest in human connections. His interests lie in the reaction of human skin with chemicals. We thought he was trying to disintegrate the bodies but really he was conducting experiments. The cat was his...sounding board. He communicates with it in order to discuss his findings."  
  
"So the cat is to him what your skull is to you?" John asked.  
  
Sherlock did not entertain this thought with a response.  
  
"Ok, so the man came here to retrieve his cat and attacked John in the process?" Lestrade pushed forward.  
  
"Yes. I must say, I did not expect him to be able to track me down so quickly."  
  
"But you expected him to track you down. Here. At Baker street. What if it had been Mrs Hudson in the room?"  
  
Sherlock frowned. "She would have been fine."  
  
"No. She would not have been fine! I have army training and he managed the hurt me. Mad men do not fight fairly! He bit me!"  
  
John raised his arm to show the bite mark on his forearm.  
  
"You should probably get a tetanus shot or something," Lestrade said with concern. He turned to Sherlock. "How do you think he found you?"  
  
"Since John has started his silly blog, my anonymity has been more than lacking. His appearance here should have allowed us to catch him! Why didn't you subdue him?" The question was aimed at John.  
  
"When a crazy man gets a hold of a cat with claws, I'm not particularly attracted to the idea of continuing the fight."  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
"Good thing I had a backup plan."  
  
John and Greg waited for Sherlock to elaborate.  
  
"I made a stop on my way home and had a GPS chip implanted in the cat."

"You - Seriously? How? Where? You were bleeding you git!"

 "They were minor wounds! What would have been the point of carrying the cat back here if I didn't prepare for the possibility of having it taken?"

 "You said you had to crawl out of wherever you were. You did that holding a cat?"

 "Large coat. The cat was easily tucked under it."

 "Right," Lestrade chimed back in. "What’s the chip number? I'll have my officers track it down. In the mean time, you two should go to a safe house."  
  
"Why would we need a safe house?" asked John.  
  
"Remember the last time you encountered a crazed psychopath?" replied Lestrade.  
  
John nodded understanding exactly what Lestrade was referring to.  
  
"But this guy has what he wanted, we should be fine now," the doctor pointed out.  
  
Lestrade snorted. "I confiscated this wanker's skull for one day, one! He made a point of making my life miserable for an entire month in retaliation."  
  
"Right. Ok. Safe house it is. I'll go get dressed. Sherlock, go pack some things while Greg finds us a place to go."  
  
"This is highly unnecessary," Sherlock started to argue but after seeing the look on John's face he stopped himself. He was also aware of which crazed psychopath the DI was referring to and did not want to open up that can of worms. "Very well," he conceded. "But we don't need Scotland Yard to provide us with a safe house. I have one of my own."  
  
"Of course you do," Lestrade shook his head and took out his mobile. "I'll ask My to send over a car. He has a lot more tinted windowed vehicles at his disposal. I’d rather get my officers to focus on tracking down the cat..." The absurdity of that sentence hit him and he dreaded having to order his squad to do such a thing...maybe he could put Anderson in charge of the cat finding squad.  
  
Sherlock was horrified by the use of the nickname Lestrade had conjured for his brother. First the hickey, now this? Could his day get any worse? He took a look at John and was faced with the bruises his boyfriend had endured. This was definitely not a good start to the day.

 

"Greg could you go speak to Mrs Hudson, see if she has anywhere to go for a couple of nights?" John headed up the stairs to get dressed.  
  
"Without my help, it'll take you ages to track the man down. Perhaps John should go to the safe house and I can stay behind and solve the case for you."  
  
"Absolutely not!" They heard John shout from a top the stairs.  
  
"Just look at it as an extended date," Lestrade tried to help.  
  
Trying to process that idea, Sherlock scrunched his nose.  
  
"What would we do?"  
  
"A puzzle?" Lestrade shrugged, "Go pack!"  
  
"You have 24 hours to catch this guy."  
  
"What happens after 24 hours?" asked Lestrade.  
  
"I return and prove once again that you are incapable of functioning without me."  
  
Sherlock sent a text and Lestrade's phone buzzed.  
  
"You now have the chip number. Try not to be dull." Sherlock turned around and headed to his room.

 Greg headed down the stairs to find Mrs Hudson.


	17. Surprise

John was trying to be patient during the drive. Sherlock had agreed to remove himself from the investigation so the least he could do was not be the annoying person continuously asking if they were there yet.  
  
He lightly touched the cut near his eye, judging the soreness. It wasn’t all that bad but it would most likely bruise. He wasn't too worried about the bite mark. He was up to date on his vaccines and teeth hadn't actually broken the skin.  
  
He looked outside the window. They seemed to be heading outside of London.  
Sherlock had been busy texting since they entered the vehicle.  
  
"I'm not sure you're supposed to be texting when you're being placed in a safe house for protection."  
  
"The murderer is apt in chemistry. Not technology," Sherlock said with bite in his voice.  
  
"He found you faster than you expected. Maybe you haven't deduced him quite as well as you thought."  
  
"Perhaps if you had proper fighting skills we would already have him by now," the consulting detective retorted in a tone he usually used on Anderson.  
  
"What is wrong with you?" John wasn't having any of it.  
  
No response.  
  
"Spit it out, don't be a baby."  
  
This got a reaction.  
  
"Last night I agreed to not go alone to dangerous situations. Now we're running away from them! Is this how it's going to be? Will your fear of losing me change our lives? Will we become boring?"  
  
 "Yup. No more murder scenes. We'll be too busy organizing our retirement and going to fancy dress parties," John replied sarcastically.  
  
Sherlock had been the one to see that John loved danger and adrenaline rushes...he was cross that Sherlock could even think that John would want them to become boring. He should know better.  
  
"Why are we running away from danger!" Sherlock whined.  
  
John rolled his eyes.  
  
"Did you not seeeee my bag before I placed it in the boot?" John hinted.  
  
Sherlock's eyes flashed back and forth as he was recalling the scene when they left their flat.  
  
"You brought your laptop," he concluded. "You just told me not to text, why would you blog?"  
  
"I haven't blogged in a while actually...should I announce our relationship?"  
  
"You brought your laptop to announce that we've started dating?"  
  
"No! I thought you would like to track down the locations the murderer has been going to...although that really only works if he carries his cat around..."  
  
"At this point, he probably will to make sure it's not stolen again."  
  
"Good, then you can track his movements."  
  
"You know I have a lack of faith in Scotland Yard but I believe even they are capable of looking up GPS coordinates and going to them. Even if he's continuously moving and there is a delay, they will catch up to him in the next 24 hours."  
  
"Yes and that will be easy so you're not missing much. The man hasn't killed anyone recently right?" John asked.  
  
"Right. That's when the case went cold."  
  
"Why did he stop?"  
  
"I don't know." Sherlock was physically annoyed by this.  
  
"If you could see where he goes and which location he stops at...would that help you figure out what happened to cause him to stop?"  
  
Sherlock considered this.  
  
"He knows we're hunting him down...he'll be panicked...the locations he goes to may be very telling..."  
  
"Then you'll be able to return and hand an air tight case to Lestrade. You can walk around the place spewing your findings-"  
  
"I do not spew!" Sherlock cut John off, offended.  
  
"Either way, you'll be able to return knowing more than them. You can show off and be the pompous git I know and l-" John stopped himself. "Originally I thought we could go to some of the locations so you could collect more information...I didn't realize your safe house was outside of London."  
  
"Oh! That would have been fun."  
  
"Yes, I know how much you enjoy sneaking around behind Lestrade's back."  
  
"I do not sneak!" Sherlock smiled one of his genuine smiles that John loved.  
  
John looked out the window again. They appeared to be in an isolated country land. It looked quite peaceful.  
  
"So what should we do while we're away?" asked the doctor, still not quite sure where they would end up.  
  
"We are not spending the entire time watching crap tele!"  
  
"What do you suggest? An experiment?"  
  
Sherlock frowned. "The...owners would not be pleased if we conducted experiments at their cottage."  
  
"Since when has that stopped you?"  
  
Sherlock didn't answer. The car rolled to a stop in front of a cottage surrounded by a beautiful garden. It was white and had lovely wooded trimmings. Even if it was rather large, it still managed to look positively quaint.  
  
Sherlock got out of the car and went straight to the front door. Fresh car tracks caused him to pause for a moment. He then grabbed a key to unlock the door.  
  
John didn't see where he got the key from since he went to take their bags out of the boot. The second it was closed, the car drove off.  
  
John turned towards the cottage to find that Sherlock had already gone inside. He followed suit.  
  
Once inside, it didn't take a genius consulting detective to figure out that someone had recently been there.  
  
Sherlock grabbed his mobile.  
  
Sherlock [1:41pm]  
\- Why didn't you tell me the cottage was occupied! SH  
  
Mycroft [1:41pm]  
\- That would have ruined the surprise. MH  
  
Sherlock [1:41pm]  
\- I could have warned John! SH  
  
Mycroft [1:42pm]  
\- We both know you would have gone elsewhere. MH  
  
Sherlock [1:42pm]  
\- Have you at least warned the owners? SH  
  
Mycroft [1:42pm]  
\- The owners, as you put them, are aware and have gone to town to get proper fixings for your dinner. MH  
  
While Sherlock was fighting with Mycroft over text, John was looking around, mainly at the pictures.  
  
"Is that you?" he asked pointing at a picture of a boy with wild dark hair standing beside an older, taller and chubbier boy.  
  
"Yes." No emotion could be seen on Sherlock’s face.  
  
"Is this...your family's cottage?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
John's smile invaded his face as he looked around.  
  
"Be warned, my parents will be arriving soon."  
  
John's smile instantly disappeared.  
  
"What? I'm not dressed to meet your parents!" Panic.  
  
"What's wrong with this particular jumper?" Sherlock waved at John.  
  
"It's a jumper!"  
  
"You always wear jumpers," Sherlock stated.  
  
"Exactly! Meeting your parents is a big deal! I should be properly dressed."  
  
"You and jumpers are synonymous. If you are to meet them, why would I want to present a strange version of you? I did not actually plan this meeting, I was not aware they would be here. However, this," Sherlock waved at John again, "is the man I fell in love with. It is only fitting for you to meet my parents while wearing a jumper."  
  
"I'm sorry you what?" John asked. He was unable to close his mouth after the question and stood before Sherlock, head cocked to one side.  
  
"Hm?" Sherlock's attention was back to his mobile.  
  
"You what? Did you just say...?"  
  
Sherlock looked up at John.  
  
The front door to the cottage opened. A jovial woman popped in. She opened her arms towards Sherlock.  
  
"Dearie!" She hugged Sherlock who simply stood there. "So happy you could join us! Who's this?" She turned towards John. Mycroft had already informed her that Sherlock would be bringing his partner but she could tell John was feeling a little uncomfortable and she determined that it would be best to have Sherlock properly introduce his partner.


	18. Clay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so yes I'm awful for taking this long to update!!!

After getting over his shock, John found out that Sherlock's parents were rather lovely.

Mrs Holmes adamantly refused any help preparing dinner and encouraged John to explore the cottage.

He wandered into what looked like an art room. There were two pottery wheels, a large wooden table, some stools and wall to wall shelves filled with any and every material necessary for art projects, all expertly organised. The shelving space was interrupted by the door he walked in from, a door in the back corner and a large sink. John was about to go see what was behind the door in the back corner when Sherlock entered the room.

 "My mother enjoys creating things," he stated.

 "I've always wanted to try pottery."

 "Mycroft used to do it with mummy when he was younger, hence the two wheels."

 John rocked himself on the balls of his feet. "About what you said...before your mum walked in..."

 "I won't say it again if it makes you uncomfortable." Sherlock made eye contact. He didn't understand what the big deal was. Yes, love was a disadvantage but he felt it was rather obvious that he loved John so he didn't see the point in hiding it.

 "It's not that it makes me feel uncomfortable and if that's how you feel, then you can say it...it's just the way you said it -" John searched his brain for the right words

 "After the rose petal incident on our first date, I thought you not to be one for theatrical romantic gestures."

 "I'm not, you're right. I don't know what I was expecting. It's fine. It's all fine."

Right...it was all fine...so why wasn't John telling Sherlock he loved him as well? Sherlock believed it was customary to respond in kind when your lover advised you of their feelings. The younger man felt tense. He hated not understanding.

 Sherlock walked over to the left wall and grabbed a bag and a wire. He placed them on the table and rolled down the top of the bag, exposing a brick of clay.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

 "You said you've always wanted to try. She won't mind." He used the wire to cut off a chunk of the clay.

 "Have you ever done this?"

 "Mummy has forced me to attempt it a couple of times."

 "So you're going to have an edge on the competition!"

 "What competition?"

 John smiled. "Obviously if I'm doing this you have to as well! The man with the best pot wins!"

 "What will the prize be?"

 "A blowjob?" The words came out of John's mouth before he could think of what he was saying.

 Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

 Since the taller man didn't seem to be against the idea John went with it: "Back at Baker street of course...not here, you know, with your parents around and all that...not proper."

 "Very well," the deep voice answered. He sliced off another chunk of the clay. He grabbed two plastic bowls and went to the sink to get water. He set a bowl at each table. "Will you be using tools?" He asked John.

 "Tools? I didn't even know you could...let's just do this the old fashion way." He waved his hands around to explain what he meant.

 Sherlock handed him a piece of clay, grabbed the other and sat himself at one of the wheels. John sat at the other and looked at it hoping it would explain itself.

Sherlock explained its simple mechanics and showed John how to set the clay. He wet his hands and trickled some water onto the lump. He started spinning the wheel at a low speed and wrapped his long fingers around it. "Mycroft used to call this process 'building a boob'..."

John snorted. "He's the boob!" He copied Sherlock's actions as Sherlock chuckled.

"No giggling in pottery!" he said, making himself laugh even more.

"Why no giggling?" John asked, tapping his clay into position.

"At this stage, it doesn't matter all that much. We're being a little rough with the clay," he added speed to his wheel. "When we start the actual process, you will want your hands steady."

"Good thing I'm a doctor!" 

Once they were ready to start, Sherlock explained the basic process of throwing and they were off!

John was quite pleased with how his vase was looking. He enjoyed the feel of the clay between his fingers. He thanked his army training when Sherlock swore loudly and he managed not to jerk in surprise. He released the pedal and let his wheel come to a stop. He frowned upon the sight of Sherlock's piece. 

"What happened?" he asked, staring at the wobbly looking vase which appeared to have been sliced in half.

"I hate pottery! The wheel is not a forgiving mistress. I twitched and that - that happened." Sherlock gave the wheel a death glare.

"Looks like I'll be winning!" John pressed on the pedal to return to his project.

Sherlock got up and walked over to the table. He sliced another chunk off the brick of clay.

"Starting over?" John asked.

"Yes. However, I refuse to use that!" He glared at the wheel again.

"You can't just will the clay into submission."

 "No, but I can build it by hand!"

 Sherlock grabbed several tools from the shelves. John didn't pay much attention, he was focusing on his own creation, trying to make it a little wider.

 "This is actually rather peaceful," the doctor turned potter announced.

 "That's what mummy and Mycroft used to say. Something about time flying by...ridiculous expression." Sherlock rolled out his clay and started slicing it into slabs.

 Moments passed in silence as both boys were concentrating on their work.

Pleased with what he managed to do, John released the pedal again. He couldn't figure out how to remove his vase from the wheel without damaging it. When he looked up to ask Sherlock, he received a piece of clay right in the middle of his forehead.

A rather dirty Sherlock stood beside a rectangular vase trying to look innocent.

Ignoring the clay throwing incident, John asked him how he managed to build his piece.

"Child's play. Elementary pupils can do this!" It was at that moment that one of the slabs decided to separate itself from the rest and fall away. Sherlock smashed his fist on it. "I hate pottery!"

John got up and walked towards Sherlock. "You're a mess!"

"You're worse."

John looked down at himself. He had rolled up the sleeves of his jumper and his hands were covered in clay. He placed both hands on Sherlock's cheeks, effectively transferring some clay onto the chiseled face.

"Release. My. Face." Sherlock ordered, standing still.

"Nope." John spread his fingers.

"If you know what's best for you, you will release my face."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. John could feel the expression change under his fingers. He loved all of this man's expressions. He loved how they could be very sharp or very soft. He loved watching Sherlock try to control them...he loved the moments when Sherlock failed to control them. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing the self-declared sociopath emote. John was sure Sherlock had never actually been diagnosed and just said it to keep people at a distance. Yet here he was, John Watson - a part of Sherlock Holmes' world. He had been allowed in. He felt like he won the golden ticket...he knew Sherlock would never get that analogy.

"I love you too," John breathed.

Sherlock blinked. Before he could respond, John was on the tip of his toes, kissing him. Sherlock's dirty hands grabbed hold of John's jumper. One of John's hands slipped to the back of Sherlock's neck. The other hand found the table behind Sherlock. He pushed the taller man against it. Their bodies were pressed together and their tongues were battling for the right to explore the other's mouth.

They were interrupted by a grunt from the door. John flew back from Sherlock. Siger Holmes was standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on his mouth.

John blushed deeply. He shouldn't be embarrassed. They weren't teenagers; they were grown men. Grown men acting like teenagers...yup, he was embarrassed.

"Mycroft says your coat will be waiting for you at Baker street. Why you still insist in living at such a small flat, I'll never know!"

"I was wondering what happened to your coat," John said, trying to break the tension.

"Left it at the cleaners," Sherlock explained.

"You will need to wash up for dinner...and change. Sherlock, you're going to need a shower." Mr Holmes stated. It was a simple observation without any judgement or bite. Sherlock's face was properly covered in drying clay.

"Right, yes, sorry about that," John looked around the room.

"How 'bout you head up to wash. I'll remove your vase from the wheel, it'll need to dry a bit before you work on the base."

"We can help clean things up," John offered, not wanting to admit that he had no idea what 'working on the base' entailed.

"Don't be foolish! I'll do it, it gives me something to do." Siger smiled and walked into the room.

Without saying a word, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and dragged him out.

 

Once they were in the stairway and out of hearing range John said: "That was quite nice of your father."

"He's trying to be...accommodating...in his old age."

"He seemed kind to me."

"You would not have thought that if you had met him some years ago. He was not a loving father."

 "There's something to be said about the fact that he's trying to change..."

 "He's not. You heard the comment about our flat. He can't stop himself from judging."

 Sherlock stopped in front of a door. "This will be your room." He walked in and looked around. "Hm."

He walked out and went into a room two doors down. "Ah."

John followed him and found that his bag was in this room, along with Sherlock's.

"My mother seems to think we would enjoy sleeping in the same bed."

"Oh...is that a problem?"

Sherlock thought about this. "No. I have enjoyed the times we have shared a bed." He went to open his bag but after seeing his hands he thought it best to wash first.

John looked around the room. There wasn't anything on the walls but it looked like there used to be frames up, once upon a time.

 

Sherlock noticed what John was observing. "My father had framed and mounted every single university acceptance letter I received."

"He was proud of you?"

"He was. In the end, I did not meet his expectations."

 "So he took them down?"

 "No. I did. He would have kept them up as a reminder of what could have been."

 "You turned out alright! Sure, you had a dark period but look at your life now."

 "Yes. Obtaining you was quite the accomplishment," Sherlock said, sincerely.

 "Not what I meant but thanks dear!"

 Sherlock scrunched his nose. "Dear?"

 "Yeah, not using that again. The second it was out of my mouth it felt wrong. Sorry Sugar." Sherlock looked horrified.

 "Not Sugar, ok hmmm," John gave Sherlock a teasing smile.

 Before the doctor could continue his new-found game, Sherlock announced he needed to shower and left the room. 


	19. Worry

They woke up to a text from Lestrade advising them that the murderer was in custody and they could return home. Sherlock wanted to rush back but John felt strongly that it would be rude to leave before breakfast.

After enduring another meal with his parents, Sherlock dragged John to a vehicle that had appeared outside.

"Being eager to return to Baker street doesn't mean you have to be impolite to your parents!" John announced when they were in the car.

"You need not worry, my mother already adores you for putting up with me so you don't have to put up an act to get them to like you."

"I'm not putting on an act! I think they're lovely." John looked outside the window and the conversation ended.

 

 

 

Neither spoke until they were back at Baker street, face to face with a cat on their couch.

 

There was a note propped up on the coffee table. John picked it up and read:

 

                                    "The cat has been processed and since the chip

                                      is registered under Sherlock's name,

                                      he is technically yours. Enjoy.

                                                                                         -Anderson"

 

"Anderson has very neat hand writing."

 

"He took calligraphy classes." Sherlock responded, paying more attention to the cat than John. He laid on the couch and kept giving the ball of fur side glances, unsure of its purpose.

 

John disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared carrying a tray. He placed it on the table and handed a cup to Sherlock who didn't move to take it.

He placed the offering in Sherlock's general direction. He then grabbed a saucer and set it down near the cat.

"We're sharing our milk with him? Don't you think we have enough rows about the lack of milk!" Sherlock exclaimed, sitting up and grabbing his tea.

John shook his head and sat down to have his cuppa. 

"There's cat food in the kitchen. At least he was thoughtful."

"Most likely Donovans' doing. Rather out of fear that we are incapable of feeding the creature and less out of thoughtfulness."

"Mmm." John took a sip of his tea. "What should we name him?"

"We're keeping it?" Sherlock almost spat his tea. He looked appalled. John didn't answer. He finished his cuppa, grabbed his bag and went upstairs to shower and unpack.

 

 

 

When he came back down he heard Sherlock speaking.

"Alright, listen very carefully. John is mine. The milk is mine. That -" Sherlock gabbed his scarf from the floor as the cat started rolling around on it, "That is mine!"

John chuckled from the hallway. "You sound like a 5 year old lecturing their new sibling."

 Sherlock gave John a pointed look and laid on the couch. He turned to give his back to the room.

John rolled his eyes and smiled softly. He sat in his chair and turned the tele on. He eventually fell asleep in this position.

 

 

 

 

When he woke up, the sun was shining and a blanket had been wrapped around him. The cat was curled up beside him. No Sherlock in sight. John softly nudged the cat away and got up. Sherlock appeared to be out. He stretched his unforgiving back and went to his room. It had been a while since Sherlock had been in one of his moods. It had been bound to happen sooner or later.

He figured he should probably go in to the surgery and see if he had missed anything.

 

 

 

 

From the rooftop, Sherlock watched John walk away from Baker street. Smart dress. Heading to work. Taking the tube. Cost-effective. Time consuming.

Since their return home, Sherlock had felt agitated. Scotland Yard had caught the murderer - with his help (obviously) but without his presence.

He couldn't remember the last time this had happened...the last time he had ran away? He never ran away. He ran towards danger. So did John. Is this what happened when people entered a relationship? Did they instantly change? Become docile? 

Sherlock grimaced at the cool morning air. 

This wasn't right. He needed a cigarette.

 

He needed a case.

 

A dangerous one. He didn't need to tell John. Moriarty had been good. Pity he had to die. Not good.

He felt his mobile buzz.

 

John [8:39am]

\- Indian tonight?

 

Sherlock returned his mobile to his pocket, text unanswered. 

Not answering partner's texts. Avoidance. Urge to do things behind his back. Deceit.

Bit not good. Why was he having these thoughts?

 

Maybe it was the cat's fault.

 

He had tried to share his worries with John at the cottage. John had had a backup plan involving them running around London but it hadn't been possible.

 

Resulting to deceit this early in the relationship was not a good sign. He understood this but he didn't understand how exactly the relationship was supposed to advance. They had just declared their love. What was the next step?

 

He had told John he wouldn't research relationship advice anymore. Well he told him he wouldn't do this on the internet...he needed another source. The library? Desperate times...

 

 

 

 At 6:15pm, an annoyed librarian approached Sherlock, tapping a long nail on the wooden table to mark her point. It was well past closing time. The consulting detective got up and left, leaving a pile of psychology and sociology books as well as women's magazines stacked all over the table. The librarian gave them a confused look before deciding to get the new employee to put them away.

Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck as he exited the library. Social sciences. Hogwash. He was getting a headache. None of the theories seemed to agree on relationship stages. Heck, they couldn't even agree on how many stages were in existence! He needed fundamental science. Maybe he could create a compound or a cortical implant to stop them from becoming domesticated. Yes. Easier.

 

He needed a brain to work on.


	20. Brains

"Shirley I'm home!" John announced when he got back from work. He had stayed at the surgery later than usual to properly catch up.

 

He had been expecting a rather negative response to his use of the name 'Shirley'. When he received no such response, he quickly hurried to the kitchen.

 

"Oh for the love of..."

 

There was half a brain sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. The other half appeared to be sliced up and laid around the rest of the kitchen table. Thankfully, the slices were sitting on glass slides.

 

Sherlock was, of course, peering into his microscope. John thought Sherlock was too busy with his slide to respond but in fact, Sherlock was purposely ignoring him. He had read that playing "hard to get" was a useful tactic in keeping the partner interested. Until he figured out how to control their cortical implant he would need to play the social game...as much as he detested it. If it meant keeping John and their preferred lifestyle of danger, it was worth it.

 

John walked over to the counter and set the take out bag down before grabbing two plates.

 

"You never answered my texts, I got Indian."

 

A list of 'top ten reasons why he isn't texting you back' flashed in Sherlock's mind. They were all generally negative and revolved around the idea that the person not responding was not all that interested. He couldn't have John think that.

Reason #6 - he's with friends and wants to play it cool

 

"I was with Lestrade," Sherlock answered, still glued to the microscope.

 

"Pardon?" John wasn't actually expecting Sherlock to participate in the conversation.

 

"I didn't respond to your messages because I was with Lestrade, discussing a case."

 

"Oh! A new case...is that what this is?" John waved towards the mess on the table.

 

Sherlock didn't respond.

 

"Well you're eating."

 

Sherlock didn't respond. 

John prepared two plates. He tried handing one to Sherlock who didn't budge. There wasn't much room on the table to place it near Sherlock and John knew that if it weren’t in the mad man's line of sight, he would never eat it.

He opted to sit the plate right on top of a slice of brain.

Sherlock slowly tore himself from the microscope to stare at the offending offering.

John tried really hard to keep a straight face and not giggle at the look of horror on Sherlock's face. He pulled up a chair and placed his own plate on top of another slice of brain. He sat down and looked at Sherlock.

 

"Bon appétit!" He announced.

 

"John."

 

John finished chewing his food, rather slowly.

 

"John."

 

John swallowed and looked up at Sherlock. He smiled.

 

"Yes dear?" he answered.

 

"John. Do you know how difficult it was to convince Molly to give me one brain? Which you are currently destroying."

 

"Sherlock. Do you know what the proper use of a kitchen table is for?" John took another bite of his meal.

 

"Are you trying to be funny?"

 

"Am I?" John took another bite to stop himself from bursting out in laughter.

 

"John Hamish Watson. If you do not remove yourself from this table, I will...I..."

 

"You'll?" Another bite.

 

"Stop eating." Sherlock ordered.

 

"Make me!"

 

Sherlock leapt from his chair towards John. The army reflexes kicked in and John got out of his chair just in time. Sherlock leaned over John's chair, furiously looking at the doctor.

John gave him a cheeky smile and ran to the living room, Sherlock in pursuit.

 

"There's is a finite amount of space for you to run to, John Watson! I will catch you!"

 

"And then what?" John giggled rounding the coffee table. Sherlock opted to leap over it, colliding with the soldier.

 

They fell to the ground. Sherlock tackled John. John was too busy giggling to really care who had the upper hand and quickly found himself under a straddling Sherlock.

 

"Stop giggling!" Sherlock ordered.

 

"Make me!"

 

Sherlock kissed John. The frenzied battle turned into a frenzied kiss. Eventually Sherlock rolled off of John and laid on the ground beside him.

 

"Oh no you don't!" John said. "You finish what you started! He manoeuvred on top of Sherlock.

 

"What did I start?" A quizzical Sherlock asked.

 

John looked down at his trousers where the obvious outline of his hard cock could be seen.

 

"Oh" Sherlock subconsciously licked his lip.

 

"Oh!" The sight went straight to John's cock, causing it to twitch.

 

Long fingers made their way to under John's belt buckle.

 

Once his trousers and boxers were brought down to his knees, John bit his lip as he watched Sherlock's fingers trace up and down his cock. He did little figure eights around his balls before dragging his thumb up the shaft.

John moaned.

Sherlock looked up, as if remembering that there was a human attached to the member he was playing with. He smiled at John who looked rather out of it. He removed his hand and nudged John to move upwards. John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock rolled his eyes and opted to simply move down so that John was on top of his face. He placed his hand on the middle of John back and gently pushed him so that he was on all fours, trousers awkwardly bunched up at his knees. Sherlock leaned his head forward to lick the tip and softly pressed his lips to John's cock. He brought his hand to the doctors’ buttocks and applied pressure, advising him to thrust forward.

John gasped and gently thrusted in and out of Sherlock's mouth. The consulting detective leaned up on his elbows to give himself a slight angle. This was instantly appreciated by John who instantly moaned and swore out loud.

Since Sherlock's hand was already on his mate's firm ass, he decided to venture south. He slid his fingers down John's ass and dragged a sole finger up the middle of the cheeks. John wasn't expecting this and couldn't stop himself from cumming inside Sherlock's mouth, without warning. Sherlock initially choked on the surprise but managed to swallow it all.

John all but collapsed on to Sherlock then rolled to lie beside him.

 

"Wow, sorry, not as young as I used to be...give me one second to catch my breath and it's your turn!"

 

"Mrs. Hudson will be at our door in 45.7 seconds." The deep baritone announced.

 

"Fuck!" John swore and got up. He pulled his trousers up and ran upstairs to compose himself.

 

Sherlock returned to the kitchen to find the cat licking a brain slice.

 

“Cat!” He yelled, shooing it away. Great! Threes slices were ruined. Although, at least now he could study the effects of cat saliva on the brain.

 

Mrs. Hudson knocked.

 

“Come in.”

 

She did.

 

 

 

John came back downstairs to witness Mrs. Hudson hand an envelope to Sherlock.

 

“He said he’d been trying to reach you all day and gave up so he dropped it off this afternoon.”

 

“Thank you Mrs Hudson.”

 

“Oh, hello dear” she said when she noticed John.

 

“Hello. How are you?” He asked, trying not to think of what he and Sherlock had just been doing.

 

“Fine, dear. Happy everything is back to normal. I’m just heading back down, you enjoy your supper…although I’m not sure it’s very sanitary to ear near…what is that?” She noticed the half of the brain that hadn’t been sliced yet. “Oh. Oh my. Well, you’re the doctor. You’re the expert on what’s healthy…” She patted John’s shoulder and left.

John sat. “Who’s the envelope from?” He asked as he picked up his fork.

 

“Lestrade.” Sherlock replied as he opened it.

 

“Wait…you said you were with Lestrade today?”

 

“Mmh” Bugger.

 

“Mrs Hudson just said that he’d been trying to reach you all day.” John pushed.

 

“Yes. I saw him early this morning.” Sherlock tried.

 

“Let's pretend I believe you for a second, that doesn't change the fact that I texted you ALL day!” John all but yelled, very well aware that he was quickly starting to sound like a jealous 16 year old.

 

“I was busy.” Sherlock nipped back, getting annoyed.

 

“All. Day.”

 

“Yes John, all day!”

 

“And what, pray tell, were you so busy with?”

 

Sherlock waved at the brain. “You’re a man of medicine, you understand how complex creating a cortical implant is. “

 

“What?” Ok, this stumped John.

 

“If we’re going to have the implant, it needs to be perfect.”

 

“What!” Back to being angry.

 

“To control our behaviour! Well, more to control yours but partners are supposed to do things together so we’ll both get them. Honestly John, you’re not usually this dull.”

 

John blinked. His hands balled into fists. 

Nope. He had no clue how to react to that...although no one would blame him for murdering the mad genius.

He got up, grabbed his plate and walked up to his room.

With the door closed behind him, he remembered what the plate had been sitting on. He checked underneath and was happy to find that the brain slice hadn’t stuck to the bottom. He sighed and placed the cold meal on his desk.

He ran his fingers through his hair and tried really hard to calm down. A small meow had him turn around.

The cat was sitting on his bed, head cocked sideways.

 

"Hello." John said. "What are we going to do with him?"

 

The cat got up and stretched. John sat on the bed and the cat rubbed up against him, instantly calming him down. "You're going to need a name."


End file.
